The Knights of Madness
by Aeryn Phoenix
Summary: KotN retelling. They called her Champion, but she knew the truth. Elowyn left Cyrodiil behind to embrace the madness that had always lurked in her mind, and in madness she found peace. When restlessness strikes a fallen hero, where will her path take her?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This story attacked me a few months back and wouldn't leave me alone, so here it is. It came to me after completing The Shivering Isles and then doing The Knights of the Nine expansion packs, and is basically my own version of The Knights of the Nine story. The story begins around twelve years after the end of the main game story line, and will contain spoilers, though I've taken my share of liberties with many aspects of the game and NPC personalities. My PC, Elowyn Demark, is the same character from the short one shot _Lifelines_, but you don't have to have read that story to follow this one at all. Her backstory will slowly come into focus, so bear with me if things are confusing at certain points. There are some sketches of Elowyn on my dA account (there's a link on my profile page) if anyone is curious how she looks to me. This story has a lot of silliness and is, at its core, a romantic story, but I hope people don't take it too seriously. It was fun to write and I hope people find it fun to read as well. :) Reviews and constructive feedback are always welcome.

**Warning: **This story is rated T and may contain some degree of foul language, nudity, sexual and/or sexist banter/innuendo, drunkenness, bad singing, Sheogorathian behavior, vampires, blood/gore, violence and cake. If any of that may offend you, feel free to not read any further.

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story. But again, they don't earn me any money. The little leeches.

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**Chapter 1**

The portal swirled before her, the colors tumbling over themselves in a slow, hypnotic roll. An almost-smile graced the woman's lips as she reached out, her fingers fluttering through the cool mist, and she was content to stand there in silence for a time, contemplating the meaning of the chaotic spectrum of light.

There had to be a meaning, of course. All things had meaning. Except for things that did not. What would happen to a person who discovered the meaning of things which had no meaning? Though, could not the very lack of meaning be considered a meaning? Her musings came to a standstill as she realized someone stood behind her.

"You are going back, I presume."

The Redguard let her hand fall back to her side, a small sigh breaking from her mouth, but she did not turn to face the tall, lean man behind her. Her voice when it finally came was as methodical and droning as that of her companion, as though she was intentionally mocking him. "Whatever gave you that impression?"

"An educated guess, as you are standing here with that look upon your face."

"There's a _look_?" She smirked at the portal, her eyes focused on some distant point. "I had no idea. Why didn't you tell me sooner? Should I be worried?"

The man indulged in a tiny sigh. "No. It would likely make little difference."

"Hmm, but how can you be sure? Perhaps it would make all the difference. No, you're probably right. You usually are. Sometimes." She sent him a quick glance over her shoulder. "Have I ever told you you're a wise man, Haskill?"

"Yes, madam, on occasion you have."

"That's a relief, hmm? It's difficult to tell if I've said something or just thought about saying something sometimes. Does that ever happen to you? Well," she shook her head faintly and rolled one shoulder in a shrug, "to answer your question, yes, I'm going back."

"May I inquire why?"

"I don't know." Her blood-red eyes traced the edges of the portal and her face lost all expression. "Just riding on a feeling, I suppose."

Restraining a frown, Haskill moved his reedy form around to one side of her to try to study her face. "You said that very same thing the day you arrived here."

"Did I?" she wondered, her voice tinged with amusement. "Well…I lied. I'm surprised you fell for it. I'm usually quite bad at deception, wouldn't you agree? No, that wasn't a feeling at all. It was…" she laughed suddenly, a cold, harsh sound, "that was running away, Haskill. Though I suppose technically I was running from a feeling. Many feelings…most feelings. Is that the same thing, hmm?"

"I must ask. Are you running now?"

She turned her face to him, a hard, ruthless stare in place of her former bemusement, but the man seemed immune to the threat of her wrath. "If you think angering me will convince me to change my mind about this…you could be right, but it's a risk. Are you willing to take it?"

"I do not hope to anger you, Madgod," Haskill assured her with a slight bow of his head. "I only hope you know what you are doing."

"I never know what I'm doing," she declared with a dismissive wave of her hand, her face once more oriented on the portal. The reddish metal beads at the tips of her braids clacked together faintly each time she shook her head as she spoke, as if to emphasize her words. "I didn't know what I was doing when I came here, I didn't know what I was doing when I stayed, and I surely don't know what I'm doing now. Though I'll pretend if that will help." She let out a slow sigh to try to relax her rigid shoulders, and adjusted the enormous, lumpy pack tucked under her cloak. "Perhaps it's this place. I need…I need a change of perspective. Or perhaps a reminder of what perspective is. I need to put the madness behind me. For now."

Haskill slowly nodded his understanding, then said with an uncharacteristic gentleness, "What will you do then if you discover that the madness is not of this place, but rather of you?"

The woman looked thoughtful for a moment, then a slow, sad smile found its way across her face. Pointed canine teeth flashed behind her lips as she told him, "Then I'll return, my friend. What else can I do? I'll probably do that anyway, so what's the difference, hmm? But until then…" She stepped forward into the portal, closing her eyes and surrendering herself to its cool embrace as the magic washed over her.

_Return soon, Madgod._

She smiled as Haskill's voice tickled her ear, grateful in many ways for his concern, even if it was not as sincere as she took it to be, and she was still smiling faintly when her feet touched solid ground once more. There was a pause and she hesitated to open her eyes to this world, her world of the past, and instead stood breathing in the fresh breeze gusting off the Niben Bay. Something like fear prickled at the back of her mind, an odd mixture of worry that she would be recognized, and sadness that she might not, and many other things besides. Her moment of reverie was shattered by the sound of armor creaking, and the distinct ring of a sword being drawn.

"Akatosh preserve me!" the Imperial guard gasped just as she snapped her eyes open and fixed him with a curious stare. He was not the same guard who had been posted there when she had first entered this portal, but that had been many years ago. Too many, she could not help but think. The Imperial stared at her in wide-eyed horror, his drawn sword trembling in his grip, and it took her only a moment to realize the monster he must see as he looked upon her.

With speed she had not used in months, the woman lunged forward, one hand twisting his sword out to the side in an iron grip and the other resting lightly on the horrified man's cheek. "Easy friend," she soothed, holding his gaze with hers as she wove a subtle, instinctive magic into her very words. "Hear me. There's nothing to fear. I'm not going to kill you. I am your friend."

The terror seeped out of the guard's expression, his face went slack and his wide eyes glazed over with compliance. Slowly his sword arm lowered until the blade slipped from his limp grasp and clattered against the rocky ground underfoot.

"That's a good man," Elowyn breathed with a smile, stepping closer to him in something like an embrace. "Don't worry. It doesn't hurt. Well, not _me_ at least."

Moments later, she gently lowered the unconscious guard to the hard ground and checked his pulse. His breathing and heartbeat were both quickened, but she knew he would recover from the small taste of blood she had taken from him.

She, on the other hand, was slammed with a brutal hunger, a gnawing agony that had slept restlessly within her for some time. The sudden urge to tear out the helpless Imperial's throat washed over her, a fierce longing to watch the spark of life within him sputter and die, but she forced herself back into control with a quiet chuckle.

"Rest, friend," Elowyn murmured as she backed away from him and slipped into the shadows. "Dream well, and when you wake, tell everyone of the beast who emerged from the portal. Perhaps they'll think you mad and you may join me in my realm when I return. That'll be fun, hmm?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.

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Chapter 2**

The castle was quiet in the wee hours before dawn. On highly trained feet, Elowyn slid wraith-like behind dozing guards and past restless chambermaids. She was confident enough in her own abilities to know that even had anyone been looking for her, she could likely have escaped detection. Now, oblivious to her presence as they were, she knew no one would notice her unless she wanted them to.

Except for one person, perhaps, but that was her plan all along, and even if he did not notice, she would make it easy for him. She tiptoed along the causeway toward the door and pulled a small, silver key from a pouch on her belt. She smiled as she unlocked the door, remembering to herself how she had so easily stolen the key so many years ago from an obnoxious, pompous Orc who had served at the castle.

Once inside the large inner chambers, she relaxed, letting her feet fall too loudly on the floor, purposely disturbing the candles along the walls so that shadows flickered and danced unnaturally. She pulled her cowl forward to cover more of her face and made straight for his bedchamber. The door made no sound as she pushed it open, but she noticed with a smile that he was not inside. At least he had not let his guard down after all these years.

She took a slow step forward into the dimly lit room, well aware of the presence looming behind her, though most other creatures would not have been able to sense him. He was waiting to see what the thief in his lair was going to do next, but Elowyn did nothing but stand still, her eyes aimlessly drifting around the large chamber. After a pause, she even let out a bored sigh and debated simply turning around. When he jerked forward to lock his arm around her throat, she made no move to escape.

A dagger dug painfully into her ribs, and the heat of his breath brushed against her cheek, his voice low and threatening as he spoke. "You must be very young and foolish to believe I will tolerate your intrusion upon my territory."

The Redguard strained to answer around the merciless grip of the older vampire's arm around her neck, but the amusement in her tone was unmistakable. "And you must be v…very old and senile to think you'd be…able to catch me if I didn't want to be caught."

His arm dropped away from her and she offered no resistance as he grasped her firmly by the shoulders and twisted her to face him. Shock was not an emotion she had ever seen him display, and she had to feel smug at the outright disbelief on the Imperial noble's face. "Elowyn Demark?"

"Janus Hassildor," she replied with a sly smile.

The Count of Skingrad's grip on her shoulders tightened painfully for a moment as if he were assuring himself that she was indeed real, then his hands dropped to his side and returned the curved dagger to its sheath. "Forgive me," he murmured with a quiet shake of his head, "but you are supposed to be dead."

"Yeah," she answered in a slow drawl, her eyes drifting away from his matching crimson stare as her voice trailed off for a moment, "I'm supposed to be a lot of things, hmm? Too many things. Hard to keep them all straight."

The elder vampire searched her face for a long pause, then gestured somewhat reluctantly to a table in the corner. "I would say it is good to see you alive and well, but I am not certain that is the case yet. I assume you have good reason for being here now," he said as she dropped her pack beside a chair and sat down.

"What, I cannot simply pay a visit to my _dear_ friend after my long absence?" she asked, her voice dripping with mockery.

The Count frowned and retrieved an unmarked bottle and two glasses from the shelf before joining her at the table. "Straightforward as always, I see," he observed with a dry look. The room was silent as he filled his glass with what could possibly pass for red wine under casual observation. "Would you care for a glass? It is a good…vintage," he assured her with a rare glint of humor in his eyes.

"No, I couldn't possibly. I…had a big breakfast," she replied with a dark smile. "And stop trying to be charming. I know you too well, dear Count, to swoon at your usual banter. Even if it has been years since I last suffered through it."

Fighting down a fresh scowl, Janus took a sip from his glass before he replied. "Your 'breakfast' was not at the expense of my citizens I should hope. For your sake."

"No, no, your precious _people_ are safe," she waved him off with an air of disdain. "In fact, they are even safer now, no thanks to their fearless, bloodsucking leader." She grinned at the affronted man, but continued without pause, "Some highwaymen had made themselves at home in Bloodcrust Caverns, or hadn't you noticed? I guess the vampire rumors of that place finally faded off, hmm? Well, anyway, they have been…exterminated. They tasted better than rats at least, if only by a little."

"Ever the hero," the Count replied with narrowed eyes. "You will get no reward from me, other than my thanks, Demark."

"Your warmth never ceases to amaze me, my dear Count."

Ignoring the comment, he studied her warm, dark skin, her countenance completely human other than her wine-colored eyes. "How many were there?"

"Hmm? Oh, those scrawny highwaymen? At least a dozen. Just enough for a growing girl like me."

"Truly? What a feast it must have been."

Elowyn shrugged. "Should it worry me that I can't remember the last time I fed before yesterday morning? It just wasn't important, despite being vital. I'd forgotten that the people of this realm are so sensitive to our kind. Or perhaps I'd merely forgotten how monstrous prolonged starvation makes us. In _their_ eyes, of course. It never bothered me much, and my people certainly never complained."

"'Your people'?" Janus eyed her, unable to hide his curiosity. "Where have you been all these years?"

"I…" the woman looked away and smiled at the table, her eyes distant and unfocused, "I don't think you'd believe me if I told you, my lord."

"Does that mean you will not tell me? Because I would be most interested to know where you were if vampires are so well tolerated there."

"Perhaps it'd be best if I said that there are certain benefits to being god of your own realm," the Redguard answered, her eyes intense as she gauged the Imperial's response. "The position affords me the privilege of looking as dastardly as I desire. Sometimes, the worse I looked, the better I fit in, really. You know, if you're looking for a summer home or a place to retire, the Asylums just might have room for you, my lord."

Count Hassildor's brow furrowed as he studied the woman opposite him with equal intensity. He could not tell if she was being serious and he was not sure if trying to find out more information was worth the trouble. Finally, he shook his head. "You are…"

"A madwoman?" Before he could even confirm whether that was his line of thought, Elowyn laughed merrily, the sound bright and pleasant and strangely chilling all at once. "Yes, my dear Count, I _am_. Perhaps that's the point, hmm? Or perhaps there is no point and never has been. Should I make one up?"

The Imperial's eyes narrowed and she wondered if he thought she was mocking him. "What do you want of me, Demark?" he asked with an edge of impatience. "Why are you here?"

"I need information," she explained, suddenly very intense and businesslike as she rested her elbows on the table and leaned closer to him. "I need to know what's been happening in my absence, what I've missed. I need to know…" her eyes darted away from his, "I need to know if people still know me."

The Count scrutinized her face, frowning to himself as he tried to puzzle out the woman and her erratic behavior. "It has been a decade since the last whispered rumors of you faded out," Janus eventually answered with a facial shrug. "You are presumed dead. It is unlikely that you will be recognized unless you openly identify yourself, though those who were closest to you will remember I am sure."

"Yes, well, too much to hope that they're all already dead, hmm?" she commented as she settled back into her seat, and again the Count could not tell if she was being serious. "What exactly did these little rumors say of me then?"

"Surely you already know that. You were spotted the day Adamus Phillida was murdered. Even without the other dozen-odd witnesses who connected you to other murders throughout Cyrodiil, his death was enough to forever link you to the Brotherhood. Many still refer to you as a fallen hero."

"I see."

Janus steepled his fingers beneath his chin and tilted his head thoughtfully. "Does it bother you?"

"Which part? The rumors? Of course not. Rumors are what make this world tick, my lord, and other worlds besides. I rather enjoy spreading them myself, though being involved in them in any way is pleasant enough I suppose. Oh, perhaps you meant the whole killing and murdering bit, hmm? You of all people should know the answer to that."

"Not all vampires are mindless butchers, gorging themselves like animals just for the sport of it."

"Tsk, tsk. I'm not like you, my lord," she answered with a cold smile that revealed her fangs to the dim candlelight, "and I am most certainly not like your late wife, either."

Dark anger flashed in the Count's red eyes, but he showed a deeper measure of calm than she had expected. "No, that much is perfectly obvious."

"But neither am I a beast, despite how I am viewed by you or anyone else. I take what I must. Such is the nature of life, _all_ life, until death exercises its rights."

"If that is so, if you take only what you _must_, then why did you murder Vincente?"

Elowyn blinked, for once honestly surprised, and all mockery drained from her tone. "You knew him."

"Not a single vampire of worth escapes my attention if I can help it, and he was one of the eldest in this land," he answered coldly.

"I…I didn't want to kill him," she said very quietly, her eyes on the table once more. There was a long, heavy pause before she spoke again. "Any of them. But I wasn't offered a choice. 'Never disobey or refuse to carry out an order from a Dark Brotherhood superior. To do so is to invoke the wrath of Sithis…'

"I think _then_, with their blood…_his_ blood on my hands…I think that was the point when…perhaps I should be grateful for it, then, hmm? Yes, perhaps..."

Her ramblings faded off, and the Count could read nothing in the woman's stony stare as she gazed at the table. Studying her for a moment, he realized that she bore no signs of having traveled far. Her clothing was foreign, but very fine and clean, and her hair and nails were trimmed and tidy. She looked nothing like the adventurous, foolhardy girl he had met many years ago, and it ate away at him that she would not tell him the truth about her sudden departure and subsequent reappearance.

No sound touched the thick silence for several moments until Janus could no longer hold his tongue. "Elowyn," he probed softly, grateful that the Redguard finally looked up at him, her eyes glazed over with an eerie, detached calm, "what really happened to you? Where did you go?"

A sad, slow smile crossed her face, and she would have been lovely in the candlelight but for the sudden feral gleam in her crimson eyes. "Crazy," she whispered, "where I always belonged."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

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Chapter 3**

"Hear me, o people of Cyrodiil! Look well upon the Chapel of Dibella. Look at the faces of the dead. This is your future. Evil has returned, and the Nine need a champion! Is there no one who would stand for the Nine? Now Mara's children cry out from beyond the grave for vengeance! How many more must die at Umaril's hand?"

Elowyn ducked her head and pulled her cowl lower over her eyes as she skirted the edge of the dwindling crowd. Though a recent meal meant that the late afternoon sun did not feel much different than it had when she was a mere human, she was always wary under its intrusive rays. Her discomfort had nothing to do with the fact that she vaguely recognized several of the faces around her, she told herself.

"The Unfeathered has come during the Breaking of Gates! His golden-wickedness will hold fast against all arms except those of his ancient foe, the Whitestrake!"

The Prophet, for that was the only name the old man seemed to possess, continued his sermon even as the citizens of Anvil began to return to their homes for the night. Elowyn soaked up his words, though she had already heard the speech three separate times that day, and felt her eyes drawn back to the ruined chapel behind them as she listened.

"Think on this," the Prophet concluded as he always did with a slow, lingering stare, "what happened here is only the beginning."

Elowyn's eyes tracked the departure of the last remaining people, her attention flitting between worry that she might be recognized and annoyance with herself for coming back to this town at all. Silently she cursed Count Hassildor for telling her of the attack on the chapel. He must have known she would feel drawn back here, back to the town she had called home. The only place she had _ever_ called home since she was a young child, aside from the Isles of course. She was so distracted that she did not feel anyone approaching until a hand lightly brushed her arm.

"Pardon me, child," the wizened Prophet soothed as she jerked back from him, "I did not mean to startle you."

"I…it's quite all right, sir," she forced herself to say around the strange lump of nervousness in her throat. "I shouldn't be wandering in thought in the middle of the street, hmm?"

The old man smiled kindly. "No, that is probably unwise." His pale eyes fixed on the Redguard's face with an intensity that made her want to fidget like she used to under her father's disapproving stare as a child. She wondered idly what he was thinking and tried to ignore the way his eyes seemed to see right through her.

"You have been here all day, stranger," he observed. "You have listened to me speak, you have seen the chapel and the desecration within, you have heard my plea. And yet you have said nothing. No words of scorn or derision like some have chosen to throw, no fear of what is to come, and no questions either. So, I am compelled to ask, my child, why are you here?"

"I don't really know," she answered after a brief hesitation. "I heard what had happened here and I wanted to see for myself."

The aged Imperial's lips pressed together in a thin line. "Yes, it is terrible to behold, is it not? I could scarce believe my eyes, even knowing the truth of what will come. Tell me, what do you see when you look upon such defilement?"

"Shame. I see _shame_," she growled, unable to keep her emotions buried as her eyes once more roved over the ruined chapel. "Not mine, oh no – this shame is all theirs. It makes me _angry_."

"What do you mean, child?"

"Those priests were defenseless," she answered in a low, cold voice, "and the guards were only serving their duty to _your_ gods. Where are your beloved Divine when an evil like this rises to slaughter their followers? Why do _they_ not fight this battle? They're cowards. How can you offer your loyalty to one who cares _nothing_ for your life?" Through her mind flashed images of the not so recent past, of battles she had fought to ensure the safety of those within the Madhouse. It seemed like too much to expect the Nine to get their hands dirty with such mundane issues, but Elowyn could not imagine ignoring her people's troubles.

"You are angry with the Nine then." The old Prophet nodded slowly in understanding, his own gaze taking in the sight of the chapel as well. "It does not surprise me that one of your…_kind_ would bear bitterness toward the gods." At Elowyn's startled expression, he tilted his head thoughtfully. "Did you think I could not sense it? Aye, I know well what you are, but you have nothing to fear from me, child of blood."

"A secret between two people is only a secret if one of them is dead," the woman answered with a warning in her voice. "What reason could you have to protect me? What makes you think I'm not here to bathe in the blood of this city, hmm? Starting with you?"

The man chuckled under his breath, his wrinkled face showing none of the typical signs of nervousness Elowyn usually saw in the faces those very few who recognized her for what she truly was. "I shall take the risk."

"Well, that's a first," she scoffed. "Why?"

"I believe you are here for a reason," he answered simply, then squared his shoulders and faced her fully. "What really brought you here, child? Surely you were not ignorant of the situation when you set out."

"Of course I was. Damned feelings. Always have to listen to them, don't I? I've been away from these lands for…a very long time." She paused, uncertain why she was even answering the old man's questions, yet his reaction to her true nature was so unexpected that she was unable to deny her curiosity. She also could not ignore that she felt strangely lucid in his presence, as if the madness she welcomed so fully _recoiled_ from him. She had yet to decide if that was a good thing. "I felt the urge to return, and so I have. No motive was involved, at least not on my part."

The Prophet nodded slowly. "Here." He pulled a weathered scroll from his belt and offered it to the woman.

"What is this?" Elowyn asked warily as she accepted the parchment.

"Your destiny, perhaps," the old man answered with something like amusement in his passive voice. "_If_ my instincts are correct. They have yet to fail me."

The Redguard frowned and unfurled the scroll, her eyes confused as she studied the map of Cyrodiil on its faded surface. After a moment, she realized what she beheld. "Wayshrines of the Nine?" She gave the Prophet a baffled look. "Why would I want…oh, by Oblivion, surely you jest?" She laughed aloud, the sound harsh in the early evening silence hanging over the town. "You think _I_ am the champion you await? The Whitestrake reborn, aye? Hah! You'd fit in well in my realm, old man, and I'd welcome you there with open arms."

"Laugh if you wish," the Imperial replied with a tilt of his head, "but this," he pointed to the desecrated chapel with one gnarled hand, "this will happen again, over and over, in every town. Countless lives will be lost if the Unfeathered is allowed to continue."

"This fight belongs to the Nine. Pray to your precious gods to save you," she sneered, though her venom was not focused on the man before her.

"I have. And here you are. Unique. Different from every other person to have visited here." The Prophet's eyes were intense, but his voice was gentle, and again Elowyn resisted the urge to fidget under his gaze. What was it about him that made her feel so unbalanced? "I can see it in your eyes, child. No matter what you are, you _care_. It hurts you to see this senseless butchery."

"I am not a hero, not anymore, if I ever was at all," she spat, but her anger was mingled with doubt and she backed away from the old Imperial as if he were somehow poisoning her resolve. "You are a fool to believe that someone like me would care one whit about this rubbish."

"Perhaps I am," he answered kindly, then smiled faintly as he added, "but I have a feeling about you. Begin the Pilgrimage and see for yourself. If I am wrong, then nothing changes. But if I am right…"

"If you're right, then we're both mad." Elowyn shook her head, angry with herself for even leaving the Shivering Isles in the first place. "What possible reason could there be for me to undertake this fool Pilgrimage of yours?"

"Redemption?"

She blinked at him in silence as the word hung over them, then another sharp bark of laughter rasped from her throat. "I can't be redeemed, Prophet. I don't want to be redeemed! I love who I am, _what_ I am! The gods do not accept what I am, so they'll have to do without my aid, won't they?"

The Redguard turned her back on him and strode toward the main gate, but his voice drifted after her. "Then do it because it is the right thing to do, because you _know_ that you should. At least try! Ask the Nine! Let them decide if you are hero enough for this task. Give them the chance to turn you aside."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

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Chapter 4**

Elowyn sighed and rested her weight on her palms against the altar. The Wayshrine of Arkay had an unusual tranquility about it, the night's silence disturbed only by the chirps of crickets and songs of frogs. Again she wondered what had convinced her to come here. From her point of view, this was the most insanely logical place to begin…if she were actually beginning. Which she was not entirely certain was true.

If any of the Nine would reject her prayers, it would surely be Arkay. His priests loathed her kind with an unmatched fury, despite the fact that she was not _really_ undead, and so she had reasoned that this Divine himself must also detest her as well. Not that she intended to pray to him. It was only curiosity that brought her here, nothing more.

She sighed again and turned away from the marble slab, but instead of leaving, she slumped down to the ground, her back pressed against the cold, hard surface. It was happening again, the burden she had suffered beneath that had forced her to leave these lands the first time. She had labeled the thing "sanity" and stepping through the portal to Sheogorath's realm had rid her of the necessity. She had been running away, certainly, but was that really so wrong?

Being sane meant being responsible. It meant caring for the wellbeing of people she had never met. It meant suffering loss after loss and being unable to mourn, and it meant having to put on a different face for every single person standing in front of her. It meant never having love, or being loved, or having anything permanent or lasting. It meant a never-ending stream of enemies waiting at her door, and yet many of them came under the guise of friendship or diplomacy. It meant accepting her pedestal, her cold, distant, untouchable place above the rest of Cyrodiil when all she wanted to do was run away and be alone.

Joining the Dark Brotherhood had been a desperate, bitter attempt to destroy the perfect hero she had become in the eyes of the people. It had been the best mistake of her life. She had fallen in love with her new family, grown content and satisfied with her new life…but it was not to be. Just as everything else _good_ in her life, it too was stolen away, this time by her own hands.

She squeezed her eyes shut, scrubbing at them with a shaking palm to dash away the tears she refused to acknowledge. It was still too painful to think about. It was too hard to remember the look in Vincente's eyes as her sword pierced his heart. Too hard because he had understood…accepted his fate…_forgiven her_.

The Shivering Isles had not been so complicated as all that. The seductive pull of madness that had screamed its torment at her before her arrival suddenly became a sated whisper in the back of her mind. She had felt free for the first time in her life. Everything fit so well with her that she felt she was _born_ to be Sheogorath's Champion all along, that her purpose in life had been revealed.

But if that was true, then why had she returned? She had told Haskill the truth – it was a _feeling_, an impulse, an urge. She could have ignored it. So why had she heeded it instead? Now she was sitting at the base of a shrine to a god who would surely reject her prayers. As if she, a vampire, a murderer, a broken madwoman could _ever_ be a hero again, a knight to champion a just cause as she had before. As if she should even _want_ that again, after all of the pain that life had brought her. It was an insane notion.

And in the darkness, she opened her blood colored eyes to stare up at the stars...and she smiled. It was madness to believe she could be that woman, the Elowyn Demark of legend. It was utterly mind-boggling to imagine a pseudo-Daedric Prince would become the chosen Crusader of the Nine Divines. It was truly laughable to suggest that a former Silencer for the Dark Brotherhood would be blessed by the gods and embraced as their Champion. Madness, all of it.

That was all the reason she needed to push herself to her feet and face the altar once more.

"Arkay, I don't know if you listen to the words of one like me," she began slowly, feeling strangely at ease talking to the inanimate stone, "but I suppose if I don't try, I'll never know, hmm? I've been sent on this journey by someone who believes I can be redeemed, even though I couldn't give a damn less about your pathetic redemption. I think he's a madman, and that's the only reason I gave his request a second thought in the first place.

"I seek your..._blessing_, Arkay, because apparently I need it if I'm to stop this threat against the people of Cyrodiil. If you're willing to put our differences aside long enough for me to complete this task, then I'll ensure that no other temples meet the fate of that in Anvil. Not for your sake, though, just so we're perfectly clear, but for the sake of those who follow. Even if they are fools to trust such callous gods."

Silence descended over the Wayshrine, and Elowyn felt a chill crawl up her spine as the creatures of the woodland went suddenly still. A breeze touched her face like a caress, and she felt more than heard the words in her mind.

_Continue your penance to earn the gods' forgiveness._

She shook her head, her eyes flashing up to stare at the stars again. "What?" she demanded of the very air around her. "And _I_ am mad? What forgiveness can there be for one who doesn't seek redemption? Can your stock of heroes truly be running so low?"

No answer came, the breeze died away, and the crickets began their nightly noises once more. She turned her gaze down to the shallow impression on the stone, her thoughts tumbling over themselves. She had been answered when she had expected to be ignored or even attacked. Now there was nothing for it. Stopping now would be cowardly and foolish, and even as a madwoman, it was against her nature to leave something unfinished.

With one last sigh, she pulled the Prophet's map from her pack and used the moonlight to plot her journey to the next Wayshrine.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 5**

_Continue your penance to earn the gods' forgiveness._

Elowyn shook her head and stepped away from the Wayshrine of Julianos. "Yes, yes, so you all say," she muttered to herself as she added a mark to her map. The response had been exactly the same at each of the five shrines she had visited so far, and her mood shifted rapidly between uncertainty, disgust, and a delightful giddiness at the pure craziness of it all. And really, the only thought that kept her going strong was the knowledge that this was pure and complete madness.

Squinting at the last sliver of the sun setting on the horizon, the Redguard debated her next move. She had hoped to reach Kynareth's Wayshrine before nightfall, but an ambush by brigands in The Heartlands had delayed her. Their leader had provided a decent enough meal, but the attack was also the reason she had traded out her comfortable clothes – Sheogorath's Regalia, the most comfortable dress she had never imagine existed – for the restrictive protection of her armor. She was secretly pleased with how good the weight felt on her skin as it had been months since she had last worn it. She glanced down to admire the amber gleam of her breastplate in the dying rays of sunlight, momentarily distracted by the simple beauty of it. She almost did not notice the presence of another until a fallen tree branch snapped nearby.

Her sword slid from its sheath with a dull ring, her vampire eyes searching for the source of movement. "Show yourself," she demanded aloud, and she detected the location of the intruder only seconds later. Whatever it was, it was big, larger than a bear, but she could tell nothing more than that. It seemed content to stand far from the shrine, watching her, occasionally stamping the ground restlessly with its forefeet.

Holding her blade at the ready, Elowyn stepped slowly through the brush, pushing aside tree branches and doing her best to keep her eyes on the beast at all times. She ducked under a last thick patch of overgrowth, careful not to stumble on the roots beneath her feet, and raised her eyes to study the creature. She was so stunned that Duskfang slipped from her fingers and clatter dully against the ground.

"It can't be," she breathed in wide-eyed disbelief. "Shadowmere?"

The enormous black mare tossed her head, a low nicker rumbling in her chest as she angled one of her large, crimson eyes on the vampire.

"Shadowmere!" the woman all but squealed, her face a mask of elation as she flung herself at the horse. Elowny's arms twisted around the creature's neck, her fingers buried in the coarse thickness of her mane as the Redguard hugged her fiercely. The horse pranced on her feet, kicking up her hooves in restless excitement as she nuzzled the woman's back with her broad nose.

"How can this be?" Elowyn's smile was filled with wonder, her eyes bright as she pulled away to cradle the horse's face between her palms. "You haven't aged a day! How are you still so beautiful after all these years?"

The mare gave a defiant neigh as if the woman had insulted her, and Elowyn laughed. "Lucien wasn't lying when he said you were special, was he?"

The horse gave another low, rumbling sound from her chest, and the vampire laughed again. "I can't believe this. How did you know I was here?" With a contented sigh, the woman wrapped her arms around the horse's thick neck again and rested her cheek against Shadowmere's sleek, sable shoulder. "It doesn't matter, does it. You're here." She laughed to herself, ignoring the single tear trickling down her face. "You're here. And I'm not letting you go again, even if I have to carry you back to the Isles with me."

The mare nickered her agreement and lipped fondly at the beads in the woman's hair. "There is so much I would ask you," Elowyn sighed without breaking her embrace. "But you can't tell me a thing. Maybe it's better that way, hmm?" She pulled back to regard the horse, her fingers gently stroking over Shadowmere's velvet nose. "Best that I don't know what happened within the Brotherhood after I vanished. Best if I don't know if the Cheydinhal Sanctuary was reformed after the…"

Her eyes danced away from the mare's startlingly intelligent gaze, and Elowyn let out a nervous, pinched laugh. "What am I doing, Mere? You know, madness doesn't _have_ to be painful. So why is it so painful here? Why is it so painful for _me_? Maybe he's right – maybe it is me."

Shadowmere nuzzled the woman's face and nickered low in her throat as if to comfort her. "Ah, no use standing around here," the Redguard insisted with a false laugh. "Come on. Let's go find more fools to pray to, shall we? I'll tell you all about it on the way."


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 6**

Shadowmere tossed her head and flicked her tail in agitation as she trotted off the bank of the road into the underbrush. "I'm sorry, Mere," Elowyn soothed from the horse's back with a fond pat on the beast's sturdy neck. The blanket she had draped over the mare was hardly sufficient protection from the sharp angles of Elowyn's armor. "We're almost there."

They had ridden through the night and now, as light seeped up into the eastern sky, they had only the Wayshrine of Stendarr left to visit. That, however, was not her destination at the moment. That could wait until she had found some…perspective.

Elowyn refused to let herself imagine what might happen at this last Wayshrine. She half expected the gods to laugh at her and send her on her merry way, which honestly was not a bad option in her opinion. She was homesick and missed Haskill's dry complaints and her lovely Mazken, though Shadowmere's presence had helped soothe the lonely part of her in some ways. Most of all she missed the night's sky – the stars in Cyrodiil were simply too ordinary.

An unnatural stone shape appeared through the trees ahead of them, and Elowyn felt a surge of relief. Manic laughter drifted to her ears on the breeze, followed by a bloodcurdling shriek, then more laughter. Smiling, the Redguard urged the horse up a short rise until they broke through the low brush into a clearing at the base of Sheogorath's Shrine.

"Save her! Save poor K'razha!" a Khajiit squealed as she scrambled around Shadowmere's flank and tugged at the rider's greave. The horse gave a snort and pranced irritably to one side. Wild, unfocused eyes gazed up at Elowyn's hooded face. "H-he's going to _eat_ _them_!"

"Who's going to…"

"Here kitty, kitty," a man's voice called from the shadows beside the towering statue. The call was probably intended to sound soothing, but the high pitched giggles that broke out between the words ruined the affect. "Come, little kitty. It's for your own go-_od_."

The female gave another squeak as her stalker, a lean Imperial with wide, manic eyes, lunged forward, and the pair ran an uneven circle around Shadowmere until the annoyed mare raised one powerful rear leg and landed a solid kick straight into the male Imperial's side. He landed with a grunt several feet away, and Elowyn immediately swung herself off her mount.

"Nice shot," she whispered to the mare, "but no killing my followers. Just because I do doesn't mean you get to."

The horse let out another snort, but Elowyn ignored her and approached the prone man. The Khajiit hung back, wringing her furry fingers as if she were not sure what to do with herself without the man chasing her. Before Elowyn could bend to check the Imperial, there was a rustle of heavy fabric and the vampire found herself staring into a pair of eyes only a few shades darker than her own.

"I knew it." The Dunmer standing in front of her was not a young man, though he was by no means unattractive, and there was an intense, calculating way about his perusal of her form. He wore a thick robe over his lean body, the buttons attached all askew, and his crooked smile was downright arrogant. "I told them you were coming, told them to behave themselves, but did they listen?"

"They usually don't," Elowyn replied with a lopsided smile of her own. "I take it you are in charge around here."

"As much as one could ever be in charge of such things, aye?" With a flourish and a low bow, the Dunmer declared, "Ferul Ravel, at your service, Madgod. Your presence brings this humble man excruciating tingles of pleasure."

"The feeling is mutual," the woman replied with a hint of amusement in her tone, but her eyes were drawn to the groaning man on the ground.

"Oh, pay no worry to him," the Dark Elf assured her with a disdainful glare at the unconscious man. "I am not fortunate enough for him to suffer a fatal injury."

"Why was he chasing the Khajiit?"

The ebony skinned man let out a sharp bark of a laugh. "As if we need a reason? Reason is the one thing we all lack, aye? Ah, well, the kitty there, K'razha, is a new one to our little _family_, and I wager our smelly, unconscious friend here was the victim of a hoax." Ferul leaned to one side to peer around Elowyn, toward the statue behind her. "Am I right, Ortis?"

A massive Nord lay sprawled in the grass at the base of the shrine, his burly arms folded behind his head as he gazed up at the brightening sky. Elowyn wondered idly where the man's pants had gone. Beside him, leaning against the stone statue, a young female Altmer stared fixedly at the horizon with a look of almost panicked expectation. None of the others seemed to pay any mind that the woman was completely naked.

"I don't know what you're gettin' at, elf," the Nord grumbled to Ferul around a blade of grass in his mouth, "but I don't like it one bit."

"Luckily for me, your enjoyment is not a requirement," the Dunmer shot back with a haughty lift of his chin. "Now, what did you tell Gregory?"

"Nothin', you arrogant twit."

The High Elf beside him suddenly spoke, though her voice was pitched low to imitate a male timber and her eyes remained fixed on the skyline as if in a trance. "'Hey, Greg, you know that little furball that showed up here a few days back? Yeah, her. She has _bugs_! Yup, I seen 'em myself. But she hides 'em real good. On her face, under an illusion! Mm-hmm – them's not whiskers at all!'"

"_Her whiskers!"_ The Khajiit's high-pitched squeak gave them all a start, and she backed away toward the woods on trembling paws as they stared. "H-h-he's going to eat K'razha's precious whiskers!" With a last wail, she darted into the brush.

Ferul sighed. "Well, I hope you are proud of yourself, you stupid Nord."

Ortis grunted something under his breath, then took the chewed piece of grass from his mouth and threw it at the High Elf beside him. "Tattle tale." The Altmer continued her mindless staring, but Elowyn was almost certain the woman's smile widened just a touch.

"My Lord Madgod, I am pleased you were here to witness this," the Dark Elf said with sharp disapproval written across his face. "This fat oaf is clearly unworthy to bask in your glory! Would it be so much to ask for you to smite him with your divine wrath or some such? Just a little? _Please_?"

Elowyn tilted her head and pondered the request before she answered. "Oh, I don't know. He seems to be doing exactly as my followers should."

The Nord looked at her for the first time, a slow, sinister smile creeping over his face as his pale blue eyes looked her over. "I'm flattered, Madgod" he said as he propped himself up on one elbow and regarded her with a lecherous grin, "but you're not young enough for me. I'm a picky man in many respects, especially with my meals. What's wrong with liking 'em sweet and tender, huh? Roll back time a few years, though, and I'd eat you in a heartbeat, pretty Madgod."

The Dark Elf looked horrified, but Elowyn laughed easily. "I'm tempted to turn back time just to see if you'd back up your brazen words, friend. But the only way you'd get to eat me is if your teeth were made of feathers."

The High Elf's eyes danced away from the sky for a moment, and she let out a giddy, demented giggle. "Oooh, that would tickle!"

"Is she gone?" An Argonian slunk from the shadows of the wilderness, her wild eyes darting across the clearing, and the Nord muttered something to himself about always being interrupted before he lay back down to stare at the fading stars. "Is the little kitty really gone? Did she go? Will she be back? Where is she? Tell me. Where?"

"Beewus, not now," Ferul groaned.

Instead of obeying, the woman crept toward Elowyn, her head cocked as she studied the Redguard. "Who be you? Are you new? You must be new. I haven't seen you before, so you are new. You must never have been before until now." Crouched low, the Argonian sniffed at Elowyn's boots. "You don't smell right. What are you?"

"I'm Elowyn. And you are?"

"Mmm…mm-hmm, mm-hmm. I didn't ask _who_, I asked _what_. I…" the lizardwoman leaned forward conspiratorially, "am a dog. Or I was a dog. No, I am one still, even if no one knows it. Sometimes I forget, but I always remember. Where did you say that kitty went?"

With a swish of her thick tail, the Argonian trotted off into the brush in the exact opposite direction the Khajiit had gone. Beside her, the Dark Elf pinched the bridge of his nose and let out an exasperated sigh before turning to Elowyn.

"Do you see what I have to put up with here? Madgod, surely it cannot be too much to ask for you to disembowel them and save me the headache?"

"Sorry, Ferul," she replied with a warm smile, "I'm not in a disemboweling mood today. It's such a dreadful mess, really. Ask me again tomorrow."

"Indubitably. Now, what can your humblest servant do for you on this dreary morning?"

"Ah, yes." Elowyn forced herself to remember why she had come to the shrine. "I want to leave my horse here for a few hours. I need to head into Leyawiin for supplies and a proper saddle, and the mare can't be trusted in the town stables."

Shadowmere interrupted with a shrill neigh, and Elowyn gave the horse a dry stare. "I remember the last time, Mere, even if it was years ago. You ripped half the hair off that poor stable boy's head. You'll stay here."

Ferul bobbed his head in understanding as the woman turned her attention back to him. "Aye, Madgod, the mare will be fine here. I shall do my utmost to keep anyone from eating her in your absence."

Elowyn snorted and retrieved her pack and extra sword from where she had tied them to the horse's back. "I'd be more concerned about her eating you, friend."

The High Elf beside the shrine let out another giggle. "Are her teeth made of feathers? I volunteer to go first!" The woman broke off with a gasp and leaped to her feet suddenly. "Oh, look! The _light_! It comes!"

Pulling her cowl low over her face, Elowyn ducked into the shadowy underbrush to avoid the rays of the rising sun, hunting in the breaking dawn for a potential meal before she headed into the town to the south.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 7**

Gasping, Elowyn surfaced from the vision and stumbled back from the Wayshrine of Stendarr on wobbly legs. She was grateful when she collided with something solid that prevented her from falling flat on her backside. It took her mind a moment to register that it was a person holding her up.

"Easy, my lady," the man said gently as she jerked away on instinct, her fingers flying to the hilt of her sword. The balding Imperial kept one hand on her elbow to steady her, but raised his other armored arm in a gesture of surrender to show that he held no weapon. "I shall not harm you, I assure you."

Uneasy within his grasp, Elowyn twitched off his hand and backed away a few paces, shaking her head to try to clear the confusion. "I…pardon me, sir. I'm not myself. If I ever was in the first place."

"No apology necessary, madam," the aging man assured her with a polite bow of his head.

"We thought you might be dead." Elowyn's eyes darted up as she realized there was another man with the Imperial. How much had happened while she had been wandering through misty dreams? She felt very unnerved to know she had been so vulnerable. A young Redguard stood a few paces away holding the reigns of two horses, and his distrust was palpable as he eyed Elowyn. Unlike the older man, he wore no armor and only a plain blade at his hip. "You did not appear to be breathing when we rode up."

The Imperial sent the younger man a sharp glance, then smiled kindly at Elowyn. "Forgive my young companion, my lady. He is a good and loyal man, but he has a distinct lack of _tact_, something I continue to hope he shall develop over time." The younger Redguard glanced away, seeming somewhat humbled, and the Imperial offered Elowyn a courtly bow. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Sir Roderic of Wayrest, and this is my squire, Lathon."

"Uh…it's a pleasure to meet you, sir," Elowny managed as her wits came back to her slowly. The man was a knight, and that put her a bit more at easy in his presence. Though his good manners would surely change if he knew her true nature, for the moment, all he perceived was an armored damsel, possibly in distress. Still, she was not a complete fool, even if she was crazy. "My name is…Ella. I was just passing through when I decided to stop here at the Wayshrine. Doesn't seem like it was such a good idea after all."

"Aye, this was our destination as well." He tilted his head and gave the woman a thoughtful stare. "Tell me, my lady, did Stendarr deign to speak with you?"

"I-I…no." The answer was honest enough, but in her mind rose images unbidden. She shook her head again, dashing aside the urge to ponder on what she had been shown, but the memory was persistent. She remembered praying, the sensation of falling…or rising? Then she had spoken with someone…spoken with…_Pelinal_.

"What did you say?" Sir Roderic took a sharp step closer to her, his eyes narrowed, and she realized she had spoken the name aloud. "My lady, what did you see?"

His voice sounded hopeful and urgent, but Elowyn was backing quickly away, already searching for the best escape route as she scooped the nearly forgotten saddle and bridle from the ground beside the Wayshrine. "I'm sorry, my lord, but I must go. It'll be dark soon, and I…"

"No, please wait." The knight had lifted his hand toward her, but seeing her tense expression, he dropped it once more to his side. "Please," he started again with careful patience, "we are on a Pilgrimage, as I suspect you are as well. The name you just spoke…we seek the Crusader, my lady. Did you see him? Did you speak with the Whitestrake? What did the gods show you?"

For a moment, she simply stared at him with wide eyes. Then, in a blink, she vanished, leaving the two men staring into the darkening wood, a single waving tree branch the only sign of her hasty departure.

"Well, that wasn't at all bizarre," Lathon snorted as he soothed the restless horses and glared after the strangely familiar woman.

"Yes, it was, was it not…?" The Imperial knight gazed unseeing for a time, lost in his own thoughts. After a moment, he glanced at his squire. "I am surprised you did not recognize her."

"Whatever do you mean, sir?"

"Few of your race are more famous than that one. You should pay more mind to your studies, Lathon."

The young Redguard stared at the knight in confusion. "What…oh, surely you jest, my lord! Yes, she looked like her, but…she is…well, she is _dead_! That is impossible!"

With a low chuckle, the older man shook his head and approached the shrine. "Do not let rumor affect your perceptions. Your eyes do not lie." He sighed. "Ah, well. Perhaps we shall meet her again and you may ask her yourself, aye?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 8**

She was not shaken, she told herself. The Lord of Madness did not get upset or confused or downright _angry_ over a silly vision sent by the Nine Divines. The very idea of it was laughable! So then why could she not stop staring into the flickering fire as images danced behind her eyes, fleeting flashes of a righteous man and his bitter but resolute words? "Why indeed," she muttered aloud.

Pelinal had not been what she had expected. She was not exactly sure _what_ she had expected really, if anything at all, but the harsh, bitter anger in the Crusader's voice had caught her off guard. The Nine had not even allowed her to speak to Pelinal, forcing her to listen to him uninterrupted. Not that it would have made any difference.

Was his the fate of all heroes? Was it their destiny to sacrifice everything, their hopes, their dreams, their _sanity_, for the sake of a some "cause," only to have the weight of their life carry over even after death? Was there to be no peace for them? Just thinking about it enraged her beyond words. It was so…_cruel_.

"You look positively haunted, beautiful Madgod." Elowyn snapped out of her thoughts and softened her expression as Ferul curled his legs beneath him and sat close beside her near the fire. The Dunmer's cockeyed robe bunched and shifted as he crossed his legs then balanced a steaming plate of food on his bared shins. Elowyn noted with a quick, predatory grin that he had rather nice legs…for an elf. "I wonder what ghosts could possibly plague my deity…and if she would be willing to share them, hmm?"

"There's nothing to share," she informed him with a shrug, her eyes once more drawn to the fire. "My demons are all of my own making, I'm sure, and are unlikely to take kindly to being passed around like bottle of cheap wine."

"Ah, but that makes them all the more interesting, does it not?" The dark elf gave her a sly, appraising look from the corner of his eye, his irises burning in the light of the fire. "Other peoples' haunts are so _dull_. The tortures we rain down upon ourselves are simply so much more…stimulating. I envy you, truly." Gingerly he plucked a small vegetable off his plate and popped it into his mouth. He let out a low groan of approval, his eyes closing briefly as he savored the taste, then he abruptly offered the next bite to the amused woman beside him.

Elowyn appraised the offered morsel and the hand that held it. More often than not, the followers of Sheogorath were less than strict with their personal hygiene routines. It seemed to go hand-in-hand with madness, though it occasionally pushed others in the opposite direction. Not that such quirks bothered her, because if nothing else, becoming the Lord of Madness had broadened the woman's already open-minded nature. Still, she was a bit relieved that Ferul was of the clean sort, and she leaned in to accept the food lightly between her teeth.

The Redguard was aware of the devious grin on the elf's face, and the way his fingers hesitated to release the food. His thumb brushed faintly against her bottom lip before retreating. "Good?" he asked.

"Mmm, yes," the woman agreed with a touch of surprise, for the food was indeed quite palatable. One of the first lessons Vincente had taught her was that, contrary to some popular myths, vampires could partake of food and drink, just as they had before the change. The food simply did not provide any benefit, which, in Elowyn's opinion, made it completely pointless, and therefore a very worthwhile indulgence.

Though she refused the next bite he offered, claiming truthfully that she had "eaten" before leaving Leyawiin and did not wish to deprive Ferul of his meal, Elowyn took a small sip from his wine goblet when he offered. The Dunmer gave her a warm smile before continuing his meal. After a moment, with Elowyn's mind teetering on the verge of returning to her former brooding, she finally shook off her worries and pointed to something on the elf's plate. "What is that?" she asked.

"Hmm." Ferul picked up the unidentified meat between his thumb and forefinger and examined it with the intensity of a scholar translating an ancient text. "You know," he mused after a pause, "often times it is best not to question such things too deeply. Especially when Beewus cooks."

Despite her oppressive mood, Elowyn could not help herself. She laughed – a bright, merry sound that seemed to dissolve all of her worries into little pink clouds. Spending the night at her Shrine was the best idea she had had in weeks. "I do hope that little Khajiit was able to escape," the Redguard managed to choke out around her amusement, "if only for your sake."

The elf's dusky lips curved up into a wicked smile. He deftly pried off a small chunk of meat and devoured it with a look of utter satisfaction. "Mmm…" he murmured in approval, his eyes shut in mocking ecstasy. "She is _delicious_. Would you care for a taste?"

Another laugh bubbled out of her as she shook her head, but her enjoyment was disrupted by an irritated grunt from the far side of the clearing. "Would you shut your damned yap, you stupid elf?" came the Nord's groggy voice. "Some of us are tryin' to sleep and damned well don't wanna hear your pathetic flirtin'." The massive man flopped over on his bedroll, grumbling more quietly, "Always slatherin' all over the women…like you got a chance in Oblivion with the Madgod? Feh."

Ferul looked as though he were considering hurling his plate and remaining food at the human, but the curious look Elowyn sent him distracted from his annoyance. The elf cleared his throat and feigned a sudden attentiveness to his meal.

"We are going to change it, you know," he said suddenly. "The statue," he clarified with a nod toward the shrine and the gaudy figure of Sheogorath. "To make it look more…well, like _you_...the current you, anyway. Since you seem so fond of this form."

"No, don't," Elowyn insisted, her voice high with a sudden anxiety that threatened to strangle her. "It's fine as it is. Don't change it. Ever."

Ferul's expression was a blend of uncertainty and disappointment. "Of course, Madgod."

"I just…there's enough damned statues of me in this blasted realm as it is," she felt obligated to explain, though she was facing the fire with a distracted expression. "I don't need another. And besides, He looks better up there than I ever would."

"Hmm, I must disagree with your assessment," the elf murmured as his tension began to ease once more. "Even if it is unwise for a man to tell his deity she is wrong."

Elowyn smiled gently and leaned back on her elbows, stretching her bare feet out toward the fire. As much as she was pleased to have a use for her armor once more, taking it off at the end of each day was even better. "You know, flattery will get you everywhere, Ferul."

The elf set his plate aside, carefully cleaned his fingers with the hem of his robe, then stretched out onto his side facing the Redguard. He propped his head up on one hand and studied her with piercing eyes as he sipped his wine. "Everywhere?"

Elowyn clicked her tongue and gave a faint shake of her head, even as she grinned to herself. "You followers of Sheogorath," she chided with a sidelong glance, "always making trouble. Or getting into it."

"Trouble? Me?" Ferul's mouth curled up into a predatory smile. "You must have me confused with another."

"Of course." Her eyes moved back to the fire as silence fell between them and the amusement slowly drained from her features as she wandered in memories that were probably better left forgotten. Memories of flirtatious glances and secret smiles and blue, blue eyes. She sighed inwardly. It was not as though she had never taken a lover or two…or three…since _his_ death, but in some way it always came back to him. Returning to Cyrodiil had made it worse, and things she had not thought about in years had come back unbidden. She shook her head, willing away the idle remembering.

"Tell me, Ferul," she said softly into the fire as she tried to pretend that she did not appreciate the way the elf was watching her so intently, "how did you come to walk the path of madness?"

He was silent for so long that Elowyn eventually tore her gaze off the fire to glance at him. The Dunmer was staring vacantly into his nearly empty cup of wine, his expression closest to bemusement. "Necessity?" he offered with a self-deprecating laugh when he finally lifted his eyes to meet hers.

Elowyn arched an eyebrow. "That's one I've never heard before. And I've heard many."

Ferul shrugged and took an uneven breath before he replied, "Yes, well, when a man butchers a priest on his own altar, in his own temple, and drinks blood from the priest's still-beating heart…well, he really only has two choices." His eyes were cold and hard as he spoke, making the slight smile on his lips almost frightening. "Either go to prison and await execution, or seek protection from a higher authority and hope to get lucky. I chose the latter. And got lucky."

So he was a murderer. Elowyn did not shy away from that – she herself had done worse things in her lifetime – but something else about the brief account did bother her. Was he really a madman, a true follower, or was it simply a convenient excuse? Many of those who claimed allegiance to Sheogorath were accused of nothing more than hiding from their due justice. "Why did you kill this priest?"

The disturbing smile on his dusky lips widened into a cruel sneer. "For pleasure," he said very quietly.

She was almost certain there was more to it than that. But did it really matter what his reasons were? She could not decide, though a part of her knew she would have felt more at ease in the presence of a raving lunatic.

Ferul, for his part, had sat up again, his face twisted into a frown as he stared into the now dying embers of the fire. "You are very persuasive," he said with a harshness that suggested the words were not meant as a compliment. It was a trait of all vampires, she knew, that ability to extract information easily, but she would never tell him that. She vividly recalled spilling her guts to Vincente only weeks after meeting him, blathering on about her father's murder and how she had _really_ ended up in that Imperial prison.

"I have never spoken of this to anyone," the Dark Elf continued with a reproachful glance. "Though I suppose I had told you before, hadn't I?" His face relaxed into neutrality and he nodded to himself. "I told Sheogorath, and you _are_ Sheogorath, so you probably already knew, aye? Testing me?"

Elowyn resisted the urge to sigh. The line where Sheogorath ended and she began had been blurred by a thousand insane rumors among her followers, and she had never felt the need to decry any of them. It was mad enough to believe a mortal woman could take over the throne of a Daedric Prince, but some of the stories were wilder still. Yet, at moments like this, Elowyn wished her followers would stop assuming she knew every little thing about their lives. Even if she had that power, she most certainly would not want to make use of it. Her own life was trying enough as it was without having to carry the weight of everyone else's lives.

"I'm going to bed," she abruptly announced. As she rose to her feet with a lazy gracelessness, she was aware of the look of disappointment on the elf's face, though he nodded politely and bid her sleep well. Elowyn turned away from the fading fire and took a single step before she stopped and looked back at him thoughtfully over her shoulder. "I'm going to need your help with something, Ferul."

The Dunmer tilted his head to look up at her with guarded curiosity. "Anything, beautiful Madgod."

A tiny smirk twitched the corner of her mouth as she spoke. "I need you to help me determine if my tent is large enough for two people. Are you capable?"

Ferul's eyebrows perked up in surprise, then a grin curved his lips. With a small bow of his head, he murmured, "More than."


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 9**

"Well…damn."

Elowyn frowned at the deceptively calm surface of Lake Rumare and let out a small sigh. "Nothing's ever easy, is it, Mere?" she muttered to the bored horse next to her before dropping her pack and weapon belt to the grass beside the water.

"And today started out so nice," she continued out loud, though her only companion seemed much more interested in tormenting a mud crab that had been stupid enough to try to pinch a chunk of flesh from the mare's legs. Shadowmere had crushed more than half of the creature's spidery legs, and she seemed amused by its helpless struggles as she nudged it teasingly with one front hoof. Elowyn was oblivious to them both, and she continued to talk to herself as she unclasped her armor piece by piece.

"We should have stayed at the shrine for a few days. What harm could it have done? I'm not fortunate enough to be 'too late' to stop this Umaril fellow's return no matter how I waste time." She snorted as she plopped heavily to her bottom and began to pull off her boots. "Maybe I'd have gotten lucky and would have forgotten all about this idiot task the gods have saddled me with, hmm?" She paused with the second boot halfway off, her crimson eyes distant as she grinned to herself. "Ferul was certainly an acceptable distracter…"

It had been too long since Elowyn had awoken drenched in the scent of another person. She had lazed in a groggy stupor late into the morning with her body curled against the elf's side, her cool skin a pleasant contrast to his warmth. If he had sensed anything unnatural about her, anything unnerving about her eyes, anything odd about the sharpness of her teeth, he had kept his thoughts to himself. Of course, to him she was simply a Daedric Prince in the form of its choice, so oddities were bound to happen. It had been a night of indulgence, she thought with a wider, wicked smile, one she had apparently needed more than she realized.

"Not that it meant anything," she said aloud, kicking off the boot and reaching for her pack. "Men come and go, eh, Mere? They're only good for one thing…and sometimes that can't even do that right." The horse gave a snort of agreement and finally put the crab out of its misery with a sickening crunch. Elowyn tugged a ratty set of clothing from the bottom of her pack and quickly changed into the tattered rags right there between the road and water. She could see the distant walls of the Imperial City across the lake, and it seemed somehow peaceful and inviting in the late afternoon sun.

"I'm going to need another ten year vacation after this nonsense is over, I can already feel it."

The Redguard piled her armor, padding and clothing into a sloppy heap on her cloak and bound the whole mess up into an awkward bundle. After a short struggle, she managed to tie the makeshift sack to Shadowmere's saddle.

"You stay here," she instructed the horse. "I doubt anyone would be foolish enough to try to steal you, but just in case…don't kill anyone, hmm? Though the idea of riding a horse with a bounty on her head is rather amusing." She belted Dawnfang around her waist over the cheap clothes and approached the dark water on bare feet, her face lined with a frown of distaste.

"Well," she waded in until the water reached her knees. "Wish me luck." Before she could change her mind, she dove headfirst into the cool lake and made straight for the forgotten ruins of Vanua.

It did not take long for her to find the crumbling entrance, and she maneuvered through the ruined passageway until it curved up. Through the still water, she could see a large chamber opening ahead of her, her vampire eyes assuring her that the room was empty and safe for her to emerge.

Drenched, she dragged herself from the water as quietly as possible, which with all the sloshing and scrambling and sputtering turned out to be not very quiet at all, and her bare feet struggled to find purchase on the freezing stone floor. She lost her footing more than once, and finally stumbled to her knees with a grunt and bang from her sword's sheath slapping the ground. Her quiet chuckle echoed eerily through the room.

"Fear for your lives, foul enemies," she whispered mockingly, "for the _hero_ has arrived."

Too late, she fell silent as she realized that something was approaching her location. The ruins reeked of mold and dust and _ghosts_, a smell that always made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. The luminescent shape drifting down a hallway toward her confirmed her fears, and she quickly scrambled to the farthest, shadowy corner of the chamber to hide.

The ghost – or wraith, rather – floated into the room, rags hanging from its partially incorporeal shoulders and a wicked blade gleaming in its skeletal hand. Elowyn slid along the wall silently, trying to maneuver herself behind the monster without revealing her presence, and cursed herself inwardly for not starving herself for a few days to make this whole excursion easier.

The wraith hovered over the wet spot on the floor where she had floundered, its eyeless sockets following the trail of soggy footprints around in an arc, but the creature was a second too late. Dawnfang sliced effortlessly through the wraith's side, and with a shriek of rage and agony, it dissolved into dust at Elwoyn's feet.

"This was a really stupid idea," she muttered to herself, then her eyes snapped up to search for traces of more enemies. She could see them through the walls, the faint pulse of life that animated the creatures, and she swore under her breath at the realization of just how many of them there were. And at least two of them had heard the scream of the dead one at her feet. "Really…_really_ stupid."

She debated diving back into the water and out of the ruin, but an idea struck her, and she quickly whispered a few words to herself. Though the woman had absolutely no magical talent to speak of, Haskill and a few others from the Asylums had insisted on teaching her some summoning spells. She only hoped they would work outside of the Isles.

The air in front of her swirled and shimmered, the magical energy trembling for a moment before twisting itself into a tall, hulking shape nearly twice Elowny's height. As the creature solidified, he straightened up and craned his massive head back and forth in confusion. A deep-throated grumble rumbled like thunder from the creature's chest. "Wha…?"

"Easy big guy…" the Redguard soothed, though her eyes darted to watch the progress of the approaching wraiths. They were still several rooms away, but time was short.

The Flesh Atronach towered over the vampire, his eyes squinting in the dim room and mouth hanging open dumbly as he studied the woman for a long moment before recognition flashed across his tortured features. "Mama…?"

Elowyn flashed a sweet, genuine smile at the beast. "Hi, Honey. Listen, Mama's glad to see you but –oof!"

"Mama!" Her words were lost in a muffled grunt of pain as her face was suddenly smashed against the squishy flesh of the Atronach's stomach. "Me missed Mama!" the behemoth gushed even as Elowyn groaned within his bone-crunching hug and tried not to gag at the stench of his not-quite-well-preserved body. "Granny say Mama runned away and got killed. She call Honey stupid!"

"Hon…ney…" Elowyn wheezed, but her summoned help continued to babble on about "mean Granny" Relmyna, how much he had missed his "Mama" and, "Why Mama be all wet?" blithely unaware of the wraith creeping up behind him. The ghostly apparition let out a foul hiss, but Elowyn wriggled her arm loose fast enough to throw her sword up in a sloppy parry. The wraith's downward slash skittered across her blade and narrowly missed the Atronach's shoulder.

The sharp ring of the weapons crashing together finally caught the bear-hugging beast's attention, his crushing embrace easing as he twisted to one side and grunted, "Huh…?"

The wraith screamed in anger and began to cast a spell, but Honey shoved Elowny behind him, raised his arms and bellowed his own yell before throwing the specter aside with a meaty, two-fisted slam. He chased down the disoriented wraith and proceeded to rip the thing to pieces with his enormous hands. Elowyn felt the ridiculous urge to giggle at the sight, but she was far too busy trying to recover from Honey's hug to do much more than lean unsteadily against the wall.

"There's…another one," she panted, and her minion gave a savage grunt and stalked off in the direction she indicated. This time she did laugh as she listened to his roars of fury mingled with the other wraith's shrieks. The Atronach stomped back to where he had left her a moment before, looking none the worse for wear, and cocked his head to one side in confusion. "Mama be okay?"

"Yeah, Honey," Elowyn said between insane little fits of laughter. "You know how much Mama loves watching you work."

Honey gave a goofy laugh and grinned, revealing a mouth full of enormous jagged teeth. "Mama so silly!"

Elowyn nodded her agreement and patted the beast fondly on one of his massive arms. "Want to help me clean out these ruins, Honey? You can't stay long or Relmyna will have a fit, but Mama could really use your help."

The Atronach bobbed his head in vehement agreement. "Me always help Mama."

Smiling to herself, Elowyn murmured, "Yes. Yes you do. Come on, this place is swarming with ghosts eager to die."

Honey scratched his head with one filthy fingernail as he followed Elowyn's lead down the hallway. "Honey think ghosts already be dead, silly Mama."

"Well, then we'll have to make them deader, hmm?"


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 10**

Shadowmere trotted to a halt several yards from the ramshackle buildings and Elowyn checked her map with a frown. "This must be the place," she mumbled as she slid from the saddle and appraised the rotting woodwork and partially collapsed roof of the main structure. "What a dump."

Shadowmere huffed a bored sigh and lowered her head to tear at the lush grass beneath their feet. Elowyn left the horse to graze and wandered toward the unhinged front doors. "I guess I just expected more from the infamous Priory of the Nine…"

One of the doors had collapsed inward, the old wood stained by centuries of weather beating, and very carefully Elowyn squeezed through the gap. She did her best to be silent, but the rotting floor creaked and groaned ominously beneath her boots. "Hmm…" she murmured with nervous amusement, "hope there's nothing waiting in here to kill me…"

Surprisingly, she was greeted only by dust and silence, and after a heartbeat she relaxed her grip on her sword's hilt. Her eyes adjusted rapidly to the dark interior, faint rays of the midday sun piercing through a few breaks in the ceiling provided the only light, and she recognized the broken shapes of ruined furniture and tattered wall hangings. The unusual floor to her left caught her attention.

Crouching, she smoothed the dust aside with one gloved hand until the outline of a tiled pattern was revealed under the filth. The design was familiar and after a moment she dropped her pack to the floor to rifle through the mess inside until she found the book she sought. Sir Amiel's journal was faded and warped, the pages crumbling so that many of the passages were all but indecipherable, but there on the tattered leather cover was something similar to a starburst pattern, just like the one on the floor.

She bent low again and blew away the fine dust to give herself a better idea of what she was dealing with, and that was when she noticed the odd indentation in the very center of the floor. On a whim, she tugged off her glove and removed the worn ring from her middle finger – Sir Amiel's ring. The stone signet fitted perfectly into the indentation, and Elowyn stumbled back in surprise when the floor gave a mighty rumble.

A broken chair behind her nearly sent her sprawling, but she managed to keep her feet as she stared dumbly at the shifting floor. With a great whoosh of stale air and dust, the stones ground against one another thunderously until a descending staircase was formed before her, leading to a dark, cobweb strewn doorway below.

"Okay…" Elowyn let out a slow breath and tugged her glove back on, "this is just way too easy."

Despite the growing knot of worry in her gut, Elowyn drew her sword and cautiously pressed open the door to the basement.

Yet again, nothing leaped out at her. Only dust and darkness lay beyond, and with a look of mild amusement, she moved through what appeared to be a training room with a small forge in the corner.

"Too easy," she repeated in a singsong tone into the thick air.

The only other doorway stood in the back of the training room. The hinges squealed painfully loud as the door opened to reveal a surprisingly well-preserved tomb.

The air was cold, unnaturally so, and the leathery stench of ancient corpses was oppressive. Elowyn's skin crawled even before the torches lining the walls burst into flames of their own accord, startling her. She could smell them, the _ghosts_, and the hairs on the back of her neck prickled madly as she approached the center of the room.

"You…" The disembodied voice came from somewhere to her left, but Elowyn could see nothing but empty air. "You have come. After all this time…the Nine have called you here. But are you worthy…?"

"Um…" Elowyn swiveled her head in all directions, but still saw not so much as a ripple of movement, "probably not?"

"We shall see." A shape formed before her, only a transparent, shimmering outline of a man for several heartbeats, then his form slowly solidified. The ghostly Imperial knight gave off a faint, ethereal glow, and a frown lined his proud face as he looked Elowyn over from head to toe. "_You_ are the one the gods have sent?"

"Well," the Redguard began though she was a bit irked by the distaste in his voice, "unless they want my horse to be their champion, I'm the only one here."

The Imperial scowled. "Forgive my rudeness, but you are a…" Elowyn braced for his next words, "well…a _woman_."

The "woman" blinked. Of all the things she had expected to hear – vampire, daedric consort, murderer, madwoman – _that_ was not even something she had considered. "Really?" She stared down at her chest in mock disbelief. "By the gods, you're right! How could I have not noticed before? The breasts are a dead giveaway, hmm?"

The spirit before her did not look amused. "Your quick tongue will not serve you here, chosen of the gods. _If_ that is who you are." He offered her a stiff bow and introduced himself. "I am Sir Amiel of the Knights of the Nine, sworn protectors of the Crusader's artifacts and all that is good and righteous. And you, woman, whomever you are, will be tested. Immediately."

Steel rang sharp against steel as swords were drawn all around her, and Elowyn took a quick step back and readied her own weapon as she observed the other ghostly knights materializing from the shadows. "Best each of us in honorable combat and you shall be proven worthy." Sir Amiel's eyes glittered threateningly in the darkness. "Fail and you shall die. Prepare yourself."

"Yep," Elowyn muttered grimly under her breath as the first knight advanced on her, "too easy…"


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 11**

Elowyn groaned and ran her fingers lightly over the welt on the back of her head. The wound was healing well enough, but she was downright furious that the spirit-knight's sword had sliced clean through one of her braids. "Stupid inconsiderate men."

Shadowmere let out a low rumble of amusement, but Elowyn ignored the mare and scooted closer to her small campfire in front of the crumbling priory to give her map better light. She had yet to decide where to go first. Speaking with the long-dead knights had given her many options, but she did not relish the idea of entering any towns so soon. She still feared what would happen if she were recognized.

"What do you think, Mere?" The lean Redguard stretched herself out on her bedroll beside the fire to stare up at the twinkling stars. "Where should we go first, hmm? Chorrol? Leyawiin? The Shrine of Kynareth isn't far from here. But then, if we head that way, Chorrol would be closest afterward…"

She sighed to herself. Waltzing into a major town was not something she was ready for. When she had gone into Leyawiin to buy a saddle and bridle for Shadowmere, she had just been another nameless, faceless traveler. The merchant had not even bothered to look at her really, not that he would have seen much beneath her hood anyway.

But this was completely different. To march into a city possibly populated by people she might have known in the past, seeking a prized artifact…questions _would_ be asked, there was no doubt in her mind. Someone would figure it out…figure _her_ out.

"You know," she said aloud in a dreamy, wistful way, "if I was home right now, I'd be in the Fountainhead. Naked as the day I was born. Getting a full body massage from a gorgeous male Mazken. In a loincloth. Hmm…maybe two. And there would _definitely_ be cake."

She sighed and rubbed her tired eyes with her fingertips. "But, no. I'm here, sleeping in the dirt. With bugs. And dirt. Worrying. Worrying about a past I never wanted to think about again. Feeling…responsible." She let loose another haggard sigh. "I _hate_ responsible. And just where in Oblivion am I going to find someone to feed on before sunrise, hmm?"

A quiet snore was her only answer, and Elowyn rolled to her side to see that Shadowmere had dozed off on her feet. "Nice," she chuckled darkly. "I'm glad you share my concerns."

Turning onto her stomach, she spread the map once more and stared down at it as if the answer to all her problems would appear on its surface. She traced the hills and valleys marked on the worn parchment and her fingertips dwelt briefly on Cheydinhal, then Bruma, then the Imperial City itself. So many memories…so many of them good, and just as many of them terrible. Like nightmares, they sometimes seemed to her. Not even real, not even her life.

She nodded to herself and folded the map carefully. "Okay, we'll leave a few hours before…" Realizing the mare was still sleeping soundly, Elowyn pried up a clod of dry dirt from beside the campfire and lazily hurled it at Shadowmere's flank. The horse shied away with a squeak of surprise when the dirt burst against her smooth side with a puff of dust.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Elowyn simpered as the horse turned a baleful glare her direction, "am I disturbing your beauty sleep? At least one of us doesn't have anything to worry about, hmm?"

The horse snorted and turned her backside toward the woman, her tail flicking against her flanks in agitation. "Don't be like that. Nothing worse than a pouting horse. Now, listen up." Shadowmere swiveled her head to stare at the woman but did not turn back around. "Fine, be that way. We'll leave an hour or two before dawn and head east. That'll give me time to grab a bite to eat before the sun comes up to kill me. We're heading to Fort Bulwark first."

The mare gave a low, curious rumble and half-turned to face the woman again. "You do realize," Elowyn pointed out as she flopped onto her back and tried to get comfortable, "that I don't speak Horse. So, I'll just have to guess what you asked right now. Hmm…either you want to know why we're going to the fort first, or you want to know why I'm bothering to tell you. Since you're a horse and all, and what do you care where we go first, right?

"Well, for the former, all I can say is it seems like the most complicated of the tasks. And Daddy always told me to do the hard stuff first. Those forts are never abandoned, so I expect a fight or two…or twelve will be in order.

"And, as to the latter," she grinned up at the mare, "who else am I going to talk to?"

Shadowmere snorted and shook her massive head, her mane flying out and resettling against her neck. "Hey, you found me, remember?" Elowyn laughed before she closed her eyes and yawned. "You should have known I'd be crazy by now, even without Sheogorath's help."


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 12**

She crept through the long grass covering the hillside and peered down the ridge at the fort below. The late afternoon sun as it dipped toward the horizon made visibility poor, but Elowyn's eyes could make out the faint traces of living creatures, people judging by the shapes, moving around within the crumbling walls. Knowing the type who usually make their homes in abandoned structures, she was certain they would not be friendly.

As quietly as her armor would allow, she slid closer through the grass, surveying the layout of the courtyard and trying to get an idea of just how many people she was dealing with. She crouched in the long shadows of a gnarled tree and simply watched.

Blue robes. She spotted them when one of the men, an Altmer by the looks of him, leaned over the broken stones of the ramparts to survey the surrounding lands. Elowyn scowled to herself. She _hated_ mages. The only worse obstacle could have been necromancers. They were always trying to capture her alive, the disgusting freaks.

She stayed nearly motionless in a low crouch, doing nothing more than observing the general ebb and flow of the goings-on within the fort, until the sun vanished below the hills. As quietly as she had come, Elowyn backed off through the grass once more and retreated to where she had left an impatient Shadowmere some distance away.

"Well, this won't be easy," she muttered to the mare as she dug through one of the saddlebags for her map, "but nothing ever is. The place is swarming with mages. Wonder if they're after the shield as well, hmm?" She drifted off with a thoughtful frown, concerned for a moment by the notion of someone finding the artifact before her.

"Bah, what am I thinking? Of course they won't find it first. I always arrive just in the nick of time, right old girl? Because I'm a _hero_."

The horse snorted and jostled Elowyn's arm with her nose, but the Redguard focused on the map. "There it is. Onyx Caverns. We're heading south a bit, Mere, and we'll hole up in this cave for a few days. Starve myself and level the playing field, hmm? Sound like a plan?"

Shadowmere gave only a resigned sigh in answer and Elowyn tucked the map away safely before swinging herself into the saddle. "Besides," she fingered the absent braid on the back of her head and scowled, "I'll have time to rebraid this mess to hide my missing friend here. Stupid knight. Stupid _men_."

Even in the dark, it was an easy ride to the nearby caverns in the light of the rising moons. Unsurprisingly, the place was home to a fair number of bandits, but the dozing rabble quickly fell to Duskfang's hunger. Elowyn piled the bodies a short distance from the entrance as a warning to any other fools who might think to move in during her stay, then made herself at home within the foremost chamber.

Shadowmere took one look into the cramped, shadowy entrance then turned and cantered off into the dark forest, leaving Elowyn to chuckle at her retreating figure. "See you in a few days, old friend," she mumbled to herself.

A few hours later, she found herself surrounded by a veritable sea of pages from her ill-organized journal, her face scrunched into an unpleasant scowl. "This is ridiculous. I couldn't even plan ahead _before_ I lost my mind."

With a sigh, she flopped back on her bedroll to stare blankly at the stalactites above her. "Not that it ever mattered. Every plan I ever made ended up wasted by some nonsense, blindsided at every turn, wandering in circles while the world burned and the gods did nothing." She wriggled to escape a sharp rock poking through her blankets. "Nothing was _ever_ easy, not with the arena, not with the Gates, not with the Blades or the Brotherhood or Martin…"

"Not that I'm bitter, of course," she added with a wide yawn. "No," her eyes drifted shut of their own accord, sleep pulling relentlessly at her mind, "not bitter at all."

Her dreams, when they finally came, were filled with fear and pain and loss. All the things she had gone to the Isles to escape in the first place.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 13**

Thedret woke to terrible pain. Not the kind of pain that could be shaken off, like a cramped muscle or a stubbed toe, but the horrible, gnawing agony of severe infection. The same pain that had eaten away at him for more days than he had been able to keep track of. The same pain he had come to believe would kill him eventually.

The Redguard gritted his teeth and tried to shift his weight to ease the pressure on his left side, numb from countless hours of inactivity, but the festering wound on his back screamed in protest and he swallowed a cry. Fever made his skin hypersensitive and even the slightest movement felt as if layers of his flesh were being peeled off. Still, he utterly refused to give his captors the pleasure of knowing just how much he was suffering, and he silently cursed the fact that he had woken at all.

Raising his head at an angle, he suddenly wondered what had woken him in the first place, and he could not help but feel a trickle of icy fear that his torturer might have returned for more. His cell was dark and cold, as always, but the outline of his blue-robed guard was not where he had come to expect the mage to be by the door. Thedret remained utterly still, slowing his breathing to listen more intently as his eyes flickered from shadow to shadow. The bastard mages had refused him even a candle to light the outer chambers, keeping him almost constantly in darkness, but he was certain _something_ was out there.

That is when he saw it – the faintest shifting of shadow across shadow along the far wall. Not daring to blink, he watched the shapeless form drift across the stone floor without the faintest whisper of sound before it came to stop a few feet from the bars of his cell. The creature – no, _person_, he was certain of it – stood motionless for several heartbeats. Though he could make out no detail in the inky blackness, he knew he was being studied. Then a soft, hushed voice came from the darkness.

"Well. Who are you?"

His stomach tightened and a flurry of emotions battered his fevered mind, not the least of which was hope, a tiny, painful sliver of _hope_. The tortures of his body were suddenly very unimportant and far away because maybe, just _maybe_ he might actually survive this. It had been so long since anyone had spoken a word to him that was not laced with hate and derision, and this woman standing on the outside of his cage, whomever she was, had neither in her tone. Only something like mild curiosity, and judging by her accent, she was from Hammerfell, one of his kin. That in itself was no good reason to trust her, but he could not help but hope all the same.

"My name is Thedret," he whispered hoarsely. "Are you allied with these foul mages?"

To his surprise, the woman let out a low chuckle. "Considering the amount of their blood on my armor, I'd have to say no."

That glimmer of hope flared brighter, and the injured man wriggled closer to the bars despite the roaring pain coursing through his body. "Then what are you doing here? Who are you?"

"My name is Ella. And…I'm looking for something."

Thedret opened his mouth to respond, but a hint of suspicion crept into his mind. This woman moved about so quietly, her face and form hooded in shadows, her motives unknown. A fellow Redguard she may be, but the man chided himself for being so willing to trust a stranger based on something so foolish. "The only thing worth finding here," he said carefully, "would be of little value to a common thief."

Again came a light laugh, and despite how out of place it was to hear in the dark, dank dungeon, the man found he actually enjoyed the sound. It was better than screamed obscenities, at any rate.

"Common?" she chuckled. "Such flattery. And if I'm a thief, then I steal for the gods. Blame them, hmm?"

"Could it be…?" His voice barely qualified as a whisper. "Has Julianos finally answered my prayers?"

"You'd have to ask him that yourself," the woman answered with obvious scorn. Thedret watched the shadow shift then heard the faint grinding of the lock on his door and held his breath. The door swung open with its customary low squeal and the prisoner struggled to sit up as the woman crouched near him.

"Let me help you," she urged and he saw her outline reach toward him, but she suddenly flinched and hesitated.

"What…what's wrong?" he managed to gasp out from his half-sitting position. His mind swam in agony and he was certain that even if the room was brightly lit, his eyes would see nothing but darkness.

"I…well, no sense trying to put it delicately, hmm? You don't exactly smell like a rose garden, friend," she answered.

"They left me here to rot," he spat, though he could not really blame her for her reluctance to touch him. He did not even want to be near himself after all this time of stewing in his own filth.

"You have an infection. I can smell the wound."

Thedret blinked at that. Of all the offensive odors on him, that one seemed the least difficult to bear, especially considering that the pain of it was much, _much_ worse than the stench of it.

"Where is it?" his rescuer pressed. "The wound I mean."

"On my back, right side."

There was a faint movement that he assumed was a nod from the woman. "Alright, then, let's get you out of here. I'll stay on your left. Try not to reopen the wound until we know what we're dealing with, hmm?"

Thedret nodded silently, unwilling to trust himself to speak. Relief mingled with the tormenting pain and he could do little more than focus on the possibility of survival as the woman, Ella, helped him awkwardly to stand. She was very strong, her grip like iron through her gloves, and even when he fell completely against her, she bore up under his weight without the slightest trouble.

They were only halfway across the prison chambers when the woman's head swiveled to one side and she let loose a string of curses under her breath. "We've got friends coming," she hissed as she maneuvered him toward the nearest wall. He could see torchlight dancing down the hallway toward them and faintly hear hushed voices. As soon as she was certain he would not topple to the ground, his rescuer drew an unusual sword from her hip and lunged at the foremost mage as he came through the door.

Never in his life had Thedret seen a person move so fast and still hit so hard. No wonder she felt no fear coming alone to this place. The woman was a blur of flashing armor, making not a sound as the first mage collapsed in a spray of blood. The second managed to summon a daedra while the third fired a nasty spell at her. The magic washed over her like nothing, and she completely ignored the summoned minion as she chased down the hallway after the mages.

Left with only the first mage's corpse for a moment, Thedret managed, with the help of the wall, to retrieve the burning torch from the floor. A distant scream reached his ears, and he could do little more than lean in exhaustion there and hope his rescuer would return quickly. Oddly enough, the light gave him a sense of comfort and he felt more alive than he had in weeks because he had hope once more.

He did not even hear Ella's footsteps approaching but only saw a flicker of motion in front of his downcast eyes and he looked up. The torchlight threw the shadows back from her hooded face, and Thedret's blood ran cold in his veins at the sight of her.

"By the Nine!" he gasped. He tried to backpedal away from her, but his weakened legs gave out and he felt himself falling. When he tensed for the impact, he felt the flesh on his back give way with a horrific ripping sensation and a blinding hot flare of pain shot straight to his core. But the impact never came, and the room was suddenly drenched in darkness again as the torch was ripped from his hands and his body pinned against the wall.

"You know, I _really_ didn't want to have to do this," the woman, the _vampire_ murmured near his ear. Before he could even attempt to struggle, Thedret's mind slipped into the blessed embrace of nothingness.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 14**

When he woke from a black, dreamless sleep, Thedret was facedown on soft blankets. His body still pulsed with a feverish, throbbing ache, but without the reek of mold and press of cold stones beneath him, the pain was somehow less intolerable. A light breeze touched his face, and when he cracked open his dry, bleary eyes, he could see the sky to the east turning a soft orange-pink. In all of his life, no sunrise had ever seemed so beautiful.

"Ah, the wretch is awake. Finally." He jerked at the sudden caustic voice, and all traces of contentment in the first moment of waking was lost. A female creature with dark blue-gray skin stepped into his field of vision, her face twisted into a sneer of contempt. She cocked her hips and fingered the hilt of her sword. "Well, does the male have a name, then? Or are you too _weak_ to answer?"

"What…" he coughed and tried to swallow around the raw feeling in his throat, "what are you?" But even as he asked, his mind was busy trying to categorize this woman. She was a daedra, he realized, though the name of this particular kind escaped him. Not that it really mattered – he had been trained that all daedra should be destroyed on sight and he had never had cause to disagree with that training.

"I am Mazken, male," the woman sneered. "You are not worthy to know my name. You are only alive at by the mercy of my Lord Sheogorath, though why she would show mercy on a weakling who lets himself be _captured_ is beyond my comprehension."

"Sheogorath? What…what are you talking about?"

The Dark Seducer – yes, that was the name, he recalled – made a low sound of disgust. "Normally my Lord's taste in males is admirable, but you are…" She shook her head and eyed him distastefully. "Such a waste. Bah, let us have a look at that wound then."

Thedret bared his teeth when the creature stepped closer, his damaged body refusing to obey him when he tried to move. "Away from me, foul daedra!" he spat with as much venom as he could muster.

The Mazken let out a sharp bark of laughter that held no humor. "Ah, so you have some spirit after all. Perhaps that is why she spared you and left me to mind you like some nanny over a foolish child." She sighed in annoyance and backed away a few paces to sit on the crumbling stones of the fort's exterior. "It is worthless to examine the whims of the Madgod."

The Redguard was too busy trying to remember how he had ended up outside the fort to pay much attention to his unpleasant guardian's words. Nothing she said made any kind of sense to him anyway. He vaguely recalled someone outside his cell, a woman, her voice, then fighting and…her _face_.

"The vampire," he hissed urgently at the daedra, "where is it?"

"It? _It_?" The Mazken's eyes narrowed dangerously and she drew her sword in a quick, sharp gesture. "You _dare_ show such disrespect! The females of your realm do _nothing_ to instruct you pathetic males in the proper manner to address a female superior, do they? Well," her smile was cold and cruel as she advanced toward him, "_I_ have a lesson you won't soon forget, whelp!"

"That'll do, Vika." The daedra drew herself up short at the woman's voice behind her. Quickly, the Mazken sheathed her sword and bowed as a Redguard wearing gold and black armor and a dark cloak and hood approached. "You're not a very good babysitter, you know."

"Apologies, Madgod," Vika murmured with sincere deference. "This male showed you disrespect and needs _instruction_, which I am more than pleased to provide."

The woman pushed her hood back and smiled slightly, revealing a scarred but attractive face framed by beaded braids. "I'm pretty sure he'll show me a lot more disrespect any minute now. Wait for it…"

Though her face was not the same at all, Thedret knew her voice, and he tried again to move even as his body ignored him. "You!" he growled, his tone strained with frustration. "What do you want of me, _monster_? Just kill me already! I will tell you nothing!"

Ella chuckled and shook her head, but faced the angry-looking daedra for a moment. "You did well, Vika. I'll call if I have need of you again, and I promise – no more babysitting jobs."

"Thank you, Madgod." Again the daedra bowed, and after a wave of Ella's hand, the creature's body wavered and vanished.

"Now." The vampire swaggered over to him and crouched near his face. Her gloves and the front of her armor were caked with blood and gore, though for all the combat she must have seen, she did not seem tired. "You were saying?"

"Get it over with," Thedret spat, though he was having difficulty reconciling this woman's pretty face with the monstrous image burned into his mind from the previous night. Could he have been hallucinating? Was he hallucinating now? "If you mean to take my blood, do it now. I have had enough of torture."

Ella laughed gently and reached for her pack beside the prone man's head. "No offense, friend," she dug out a skin of water, pulled off her gloves and began washing the blood that had soaked through off her hands, "but you are not exactly appetizing right now. Think…rancid meat, with little flecks of mold, slathered in animal dung – that is about how you rate on my scale of appeal in your current state."

That was more than enough to confirm in his mind that she was, indeed, a vampire as he had seen the night before and he was not actually delusional. He ground his jaw in frustration, uncertain how to proceed. "Why spare me? And why can't I move?"

"That would be the potion I forced you to drink before I went back to finish inside. That funny taste in your mouth? Yes, that was me. It will keep you immobile while I deal with your infected wound."

Thedret bristled, though he knew it was a waste of time to argue considering just how utterly helpless he was. "I will _not_ be your slave, and I will not be your meal! If you heal me, I will kill you as per my sworn duty!"

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," the woman waved him off carelessly. "You must be a knight to talk like that. Save your speeches. I'm not your enemy." She stood and turned her back to him as she began to loosen the straps of her breastplate, and that is when Thedret saw it.

"By Julianos…the Shield of the Crusader." The artifact was strapped across the woman's back overtop a black, two-handed sword. She eased both to the ground and pulled her upper armor over her head before casting her wounded companion a sidelong glance.

"Did you expect I would not be able to retrieve it?" she inquired innocently as she knelt by his side.

"The gods should have struck down any creature of evil who attempted to touch the shield," he growled, but his mind was reeling. Different thoughts smashed into one another, one hinting that perhaps this creature, this woman was not really evil, and another whispering to accept her healing and then take the shield for himself from her corpse.

"Fascinating logic," she quipped, and he flinched when he felt the pressure of her hand on his lower back. "Listen, we can debate my qualifications as the gods' chosen fool another time. This is going to hurt like nothing you've ever felt before. Well, that's a guess on my part…since I've no clue what you've endured in your past. But that's not the point.

"Your shirt – what is left of it anyway – has grown into the wound. Bite down on this," he smelled the leather as she pressed it against his lips, and he accepted the rolled piece between his teeth, "and…_try_ to stay conscious."

Without further words or warning, she seized the edge of his tattered rags and yanked them away in a fast, ruthless pull. Thedret's screams were muffled, and his teeth felt as though they would shatter even with the leather in his mouth. It was over quickly, but the pain burned for far longer, and fresh blood trickled hot down his side even as tears burned his eyes.

"Oh, _gods_," Ella hissed, and she tripped backward away from him onto her bottom. She turned away, but Thedret could hear her retching, and the reaction startled him so much that it momentarily dulled his agony.

He spit out the leather and gasped, "What? What is it?"

The Redguard vampire pressed her fingertips against her eyes as if purging images from her mind, but she was quick to regain her composure. "I, uh…let's just say you weren't nearly as _alone_ in your cell as you might have thought." She cleared her throat and looked at him finally, but she could not hide the revulsion on her face. "Something…an insect…has made a _family_ in your back."

Thedret could well understand her reaction, as he was suddenly struck with the urge to vomit himself. He took a slow, deep breath and a wave of dizziness washed over him. His pain was too great to feel anything other than an acute throbbing, but he suddenly imagined he could feel the larval beasts in his back squirming through his flesh. "It would have been better if I had passed out," he muttered.

Ella snorted out a laugh and moved back to his side. "You pick quite the time to develop a sense of humor, hmm? I'm…honestly, I have no idea how to deal with this." She worried her lower lip between her teeth, and Thedret felt a jolt at the sight of the tip of one of her long, pointed fangs, though she seemed not to notice his stare. "We need to get you to a healer, I think. Yes, definitely. The Great Chapel is not a far ride from here."

The prone man only blinked at her in astonishment for a long pause before she met his gaze. That was it – her eyes. They gave her away with their wine-red color. Everything else about her, though, was completely and utterly _human_. In her current state, she frightened him far more than the monstrous beast he had seen the night before.

"I don't understand," he said slowly as he shoved aside his troubled thoughts. When she tilted her head with an expression of confusion on her brow, he explained, "A vampire rescues me, fetches an artifact of the Nine, and now wants to take me to a chapel for healing." He managed a faint shake of his head. "Just how long was I in there? Have I gone mad? Has the world gone and turned on its side?"

The vampire threw her head back and let out a full-throated laugh that shook her shoulders. She smiled warmly at him until her chuckles faded away, though he was baffled and a little irritated by the open amusement on her face. Something about his words obviously pleased her greatly, but he could not imagine why. After a pause, she plucked a potion from the grass and pulled the cork out with her teeth.

"Drink this," she insisted, and her hand slid under his head to steady him, her skin cool and rough with calluses. "It will lower your fever and drive back the infection in your blood, but won't close the wound. We can't do that until your little friends are dealt with."

Thedret hesitated, pulling away from the offered potion with an uncertain frown, and the woman gave a tiny sigh. "I'm taking you straight to Leyawiin, but I don't want you to die before we arrive. I understand why you don't trust me – years ago, I would have felt the same in your place. But you have little choice in this. If you don't drink it willingly, I will make you. If you fight me, it will probably worsen your condition and you will probably die faster. The choice is yours."


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 15**

Elowyn tried to focus on her feet as she stepped lightly through the underbrush with Shadowmere trailing just behind her. She found herself frequently glancing over her shoulder at the half-conscious man clinging to the unhappy mare's back. Though he tried valiantly to hide his pain, quiet hisses occasionally slipped from his stubborn mouth as he lay forward against the horse's sturdy neck.

"We're nearing the road now," she called back to him. "The ride should be smoother from there."

He grunted something noncommittal and grumbled, "Your horse is _trying_ to kill me."

The woman gave the horse a stern stare, but Shadowmere flicked her tail again her rider's bare shin and snorted. "Yes, well…you'll have to forgive her. She's not a fan of…well, _people_. Or men. Heh, that's women, hmm? Difficult beasts no matter what species?"

Whatever reply he might have made was lost in a stifled groan as they breached a sharp bank down to the road leading south toward Leyawiin. "It won't be long now," Elowyn assured him as she fell into step beside the horse. "Just stay alive a bit longer." When she received no answer, she prodded the man's knee until he cracked his eyes open to glare at her. "Hey, none of that. Don't put all my hard work to waste by dying now, hmm? Keep your mind off it. Just uh…tell me about yourself. What were you doing in Fort Bulwark? As if it wasn't obvious enough, hmm?"

Thedret's eyes narrowed and after a moment he gave a faint but determined shake of his head.

Elowyn sighed, though she really could not blame him for being reluctant. "Okay…then what should we discuss? I know you have questions. I would."

Her only answer was an irritated sigh as Thedret let his eyes fall shut, and though he remained that way she felt certain by his frown that he was still conscious so she did not press him. She did take advantage of the moment to study him, though it was hard to determine much under the dirt and filth caked on his skin and ruined clothes. He was probably a few years younger than her, though prolonged starvation had eaten away his body mass so that his bones protruded painfully, and his skin had a sickly, yellow cast that showed just how hard the last weeks had been for him. His braids, similar to her own, were ratty and matted, and none of that to mention the sheer _stench_ that wafted from him. She had not been exaggerating his lack of appeal – he was less attractive than a week old corpse.

She glanced away when he suddenly spoke, his eyes still hidden behind heavy lids. "You look very human."

"I…" Elowyn blinked and tilted her head, "uh…thank you?"

He shook his head. "You know what I mean…when we first met. Why did you look like _that_ then, and _this_ now? You _are_ still a vampire…?"

"Ah. Well." She paused, wondering just how much she should tell him. "Last night you got the joy of seeing the result of purposeful starvation. Lovely transformation, hmm?"

His frown deepened and his eyes flickered open for a moment. His pupils all but eclipsed his dark brown irises. "You…starved yourself intentionally? Meaning…you…did not feed on…"

"Anyone's blood, yes," she finished for him with a touch of impatience. "That _is _what vampires eat. Uh...drink." There had never been a conversation like this in her life before, and it made her uncharacteristically uncomfortable about the whole thing. Explaining it to a non-vampire left her feeling oddly exposed, made all the worse by the fact that _she_ had opened the way for this dialog with the virtual stranger. "In case you get any funny ideas, it wasn't for altruistic purposes or anything silly like that."

"Then why do it?"

"Being a vampire is a balancing act between the disease and the person," she explained in the words of her deceased mentor. She could all but hear Vincente's voice in her head. "Blood sates the disease and keeps it at bay, which means I can pass for human. Like now. Starve the disease and the body suffers, at least in appearance. Last night I was stronger, faster, smarter than I am now. I starved myself to take advantage of those things and be better prepared to destroy those idiot mages standing in my way."

"That explains a few things." Thedret was silent for a long moment, seeming lost in thought.

"Let me guess," Elowyn offered after a pause, "you're wondering if I'm unique. You're wondering just how many vampires you've passed in the streets of your fair cities without even realizing it."

The man shifted uncomfortably, though his body seemed determined to undermine him, and he let out a hiss of pain and winced. "Well?" he whispered after the throbbing seemed to subside. "_Are_ you unique?"

Elowyn grinned and flashed Thedret a coy wink. "Now that would be telling, hmm?" She outright laughed at the cold glare he shot at her. "How many vampires have you known in your life, Sir Thedret? And," she cut off his answer with a wise wag of her finger, "it does not count if they ended up impaled on your sword. Otherwise I'd have 'known' more walking corpses and mud crabs than I could possibly keep track of."

"None," he admitted with a deep scowl after a pause. "That I'm aware of, that is."

"Well then," she smiled at him again, "it's safe to say you don't know a thing about them then. Forget everything you thought you knew and you and I just might not have to kill each other after all."

The agitated rider opened his mouth as if the speak, but all that emerged was a groan of agony. Elowyn stepped closer as his eyes rolled back in his head, and she was forced to reach out and steady him to keep his unconscious form from rolling off the mare. "Maybe talking wasn't the best idea after all," she muttered ruefully to Shadowmere.

The walls of Leyawiin were within sight, and after a few moments of precarious balancing, she was able to shout for the guards to help her bear the deathly ill man toward the Great Chapel of Zenithar.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 16**

He was dreaming. He _had_ to be dreaming. Thedret could not believe that it was possible to wake up utterly free of pain, not after these last weeks. Unless…unless he was _dead_…but his hunger and almost desperate thirst led him to believe that this was not the case.

It took him several minutes to muster the courage to open his eyes for fear that his blissful, warm, _clean_ existence would snap straight back to the reality he had come to expect. And even then it was not so much courage as it was the loud rumbling in his empty stomach that prompted him to take a peek at the world around him.

"Take it easy, dear." The blurry outline of a plump, pale woman swam in front of his eyes and gentle hands encouraged him to lay still. "You've been through more than I can imagine and your body needs rest. Only the gods know how I was able to put you back together again as it is."

"Where…" he groaned and let his weak body relax back into the sheets, though he marveled at the continued lack of pain in his body, "what is this place? Who are you?"

"You're safe, dear, don't worry yourself," the middle aged Imperial woman replied kindly. "This is the Great Chapel of Zenithar, and my name is Silana, the chapel healer. And _you_ are a very fortunate man indeed."

Thedret had never felt so relieved in all his life, and it must have showed on his face because the woman chuckled gently and patted his arm. "You've a tenacious will, young man. Not many could have lived through all that. It's a good thing our dear hero got you here when she did, the Nine bless her. A few moments longer and you'd have been too gone, I think."

"I can't tell you how grateful I am that…" His smile faded and he fixed the healer with a hard stare. "Hero? The…woman who brought me here?" When Silana smiled and nodded, he felt a chill crawl down his spine. "Where…where is she now?"

"Oh, down in the Undercroft again, I imagine. That mace has been giving her a hard time, but I'm sure she'll figure it out. She always does." The healer busied herself with checking him over, looking into his eyes and mouth, poking at his ribs and stomach. "Woman disappears for a decade, then comes back like nothing ever happened! And to put down a great evil, at that! Of course she doesn't want us to tell anyone she's returned, but how can we keep it secret? Like one of them old romantic tales, it is."

Thedret frowned but decided to say nothing for the moment. The entire situation was far too confusing for him to absorb really, what with being rescued by a _vampire_ who was now being called a _hero_ by a priestess of Zenithar. Instead, he let the woman continue with her examination while he gazed restlessly around the tiny room. The other bed, equally as cramped and simple as the one he rested upon, was flooded with all manner of parchment, weapons, amber-colored armor pieces strewn about, cleaning cloths, undergarments, whetstones. There was hardly enough space for a person to sit on the very edge, let alone sleep in the bed.

"Heh, not much of a housekeeper, is she?" The healer winked in a conspiratorial way that made Thedret blink in surprise. "I probably don't need to tell you that, though, do I, dear?" She chuckled to herself as she padded toward the door, calling back to the baffled man, "I'll see about finding you something easy to keep down. Stay in bed and I'll be back shortly."

It took him a moment to realize she was talking about food, which made his stomach snarl angrily and distracted him from the insane loop of questions whirling about in his head. He heard the priestess greet someone softly in the hallway outside the door, then a familiar voice answered. A moment later, his rescuer trudged wearily into the room and flopped down on her back on the opposite bed, directly atop the disastrous mess as if it were not there at all.

She looked haggard and worn, and though her eyes were closed, her brow was knit with frustration. Without her unusual armor, she seemed smaller, her long, lean muscles outlined beneath the strange violet dress she now wore. Thedret waited impatiently until she finally opened her eyes and propped herself up on her elbows to stare at him with those blood-colored eyes.

"Welcome back to the world of the living," she said blandly.

Thedret was silent for a moment longer, then he slowly managed to prop himself up into a sitting position against the headboard. He felt almost giddy to be free of the pain in his back despite the sharp sensitivity over the area, but his weakened frame shook and trembled from just that tiny effort. After he had settled for a moment under the woman's unwavering gaze, he said quietly, "I supposed I have you to thank for that."

The corner of her mouth twitched. "Don't strain yourself."

The man's jaw worked in annoyance at her flippant attitude. "Who are you?" he demanded with a look that was equal parts irritation and concern. There was a _vampire_ sitting comfortably in the Great Chapel of Zenithar, with dozens of innocent people wandering around, oblivious to the danger. "Who are you really?"

She sighed out a light chuckle and sat forward to rest her elbows on her knees as she regarded him. "Too many people for me to explain it, probably," she told him quietly, and though she was grinning, her eyes were grave and almost sad. "Ella will suffice, hmm?"

"No," he insisted, "it won't. That woman, the priestess, she called you a hero, said you'd been gone for ten years. And yesterday…" he frowned, realizing he had no idea how much time had actually passed, "or whenever it was…that Dark Seducer called you Sheogorath!" He paused and mulled over his next words, but he was unwilling to admit aloud that if she _was_ Sheogorath, that would actually make a lot of sense. No, that was crazy, he told himself. "I saw with my own eyes that you are…not human. And yet, right now, you look very human to me. So, I ask again. Who are you?"

The woman across from him folded her fingers together in a casual gesture, but her knuckles went stark white and her full lips were pressed together in a thin, pale line. "Ella," she repeated with a slow kind of anger in her tone, "will suffice."

Thedret bit back a frustrated retort, mostly out of the uncertainty of what she would do if he pressed her too hard. "Alright…_Ella_. Then tell me this. What do you want with the Crusader's Artifacts?"

She laughed and rose to pace along the narrow space between the two beds. "_I_ don't want anything with them. It's your gods who want them, who want _me_, and maybe even you since by some miracle, you survived a colony of baby carnivorous insects chewing on your spine. If you want anyone to blame for your confusion, the Nine are more than worthy of your questions. Accusations. Disgust. Whatever. Take your pick."

"You're saying," his suspicious eyes followed her pacing, "the gods gave you this task? To face Umaril?"

"And I was stupid enough to take it," she confirmed with a wry smile. Thedret noticed that when the woman spoke, or smiled, or even laughed, her sharp canine teeth were not visible. Somehow she managed to always keep them hidden behind her lips, unless she wanted them to show.

"Look," she stopped and knelt beside his bed and he had to force himself not to shift away from her, "you don't have to trust me. I was hoping to be able to rescue you the other night without you seeing my face, but the Nine have a sense of humor, hmm?"

He scowled. "Not a very pleasant one."

She laughed and slumped backward so that her back was pressed against the side of her own bed. "No, gods have the worst sense of humor. I should know." She took a breath as if to say something more, but Silana reappeared, balancing a heavily laden tray in her plump arms.

"Oh, thank you dear," the Imperial breathed in relief as Ella rolled to her feet and took the tray from the healer. "Now, you listen to me, young man. There's soup and some water, and that's all you'll get for today. Maybe a little bread before sundown, but we'll see how you do with this first."

Thedret nodded, and even his confusion and worry could not keep away a slight smile. "Yes, ma'am. And thank you, again, for everything you've done for me. I do owe you my life."

"Oh, don't be silly. Without the gods, and their hero, you would not have made it to me in the first place."

"And don't worry," Ella cut in with a sly grin, "when we bathed you, I handled the _delicate_ parts and saved poor Silana the embarrassment. It was fun though, wasn't it Sil?"

Thedret felt a flush travel over his dark skin at the brazen statement, and the strange woman laughed as the healer swatted halfheartedly at her arm. "Oh, you mean thing! You're going to kill the poor man with your jests. Now, you take good care of him, Miss Demark." She lowered her voice, but Thedret could still hear the Imperial's conspiratorial whisper, "Seems like a good man, child. See what you can do about holding on to this one, eh?"

The younger woman snorted with a rueful grin and ushered the healer out of the room. When she turned back to face him, Thedret was staring at her, his eyes wide in disbelief. "Damn," she muttered to herself as she carefully set the tray on the small table between the two beds, "you caught that, did you? Too much to hope to hide it, hmm?"

"Demark." His voice was barely above a whisper. "Ella Demark. _Elowyn_ Demark. The Champion of Cyrodiil."

The vampire cringed, a deep pain flashing across her features, but before she could confirm or deny anything, a shout came from the rooms beyond.

"Attack! Attack! The chapel is under attack!"


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 17**

"Bastard."

Elowyn gave the golden skinned corpse at her feet a swift kick, then scowled down at the dead daedra until its body turned translucent and faded away. It would be returned to the Source, she knew, and eventually reborn for its master, and she could not help but hope to meet the wretched thing in battle in the future so that she could have the pleasure of killing it again. She could feel her hip swelling where the flat of the beast's axe had knocked her clean off her feet.

"What were those things?" Carodus Oholin, one of the chapel guards, stepped up beside her and wiped at the blood flowing freely down his forehead.

"Daedra," she answered, casting her eyes around the chapel to see if everyone was alive. "They must be under Umaril's command. During the Anvil attack there were rumors of creatures like this." She gestured to the gash on the Imperial's hairline. "You going to live?"

"Oh, yes," he waved off her concern and pressed his palm over the bloody mess, "it's not more than a scratch. How about you?"

"Nothing that can't be fixed," Elowyn answered dismissively, then blinked in surprise to see Thedret standing at the top of the stairs in nothing but a thin pair of breeches. The man looked a thousand times improved from her first impression of him, but his ribs still showed across his chest and sides, and he was leaning heavily on the staircase wall.

Before she could tell him to go back to bed before he ended up hurting himself or getting underfoot, a disturbance across the room caught her attention. One of the priests, Kantav she thought his name was, knelt beside the altar with a near frantic expression on his face. Elowyn crossed the room in two long strides to crouch beside the unconscious form of Silana, and the vampire cringed to see the blossoming bloodstain on the healer's right side.

"Help me," the bald priest demanded urgently, but Elowyn anticipated his next words and was already yanking off her gloves. "Press the wound, slow the bleeding as much as possible while I heal her, _please_."

Without a word, the woman did as she was told and covered the place where the daedra's axe had cleaved into Silana's side. Thedret's eyes burned into the back of her head, but she ignored his stare and let him think whatever he wanted. Ribbons of blood flowed freely over and between her fingers, but she had learned early in her life how to best slow the bleeding from gaping wounds after years of personal injuries. Especially after five grueling months in the arena.

For his part, Kantav managed to compose himself and set about casting a series of powerful healing spells. Elowyn could feel the flesh beneath her hands knitting back together and after only a moment or two, the bleeding slowed to a stop. Though she was pale with blood loss and still unconscious, Elowyn could tell Silana was stable by the steadfast flickering of her life energy.

Kantav let out a trembling sigh of relief and slumped back onto his rear. "Thank you."

Carodus, who had managed to staunch the bleeding of his own wound, offered Elowyn his hand to haul her to her feet. "I'll help him get Silana to a bed. You should clean yourself up and see to your friend," he gave a faint jerk of his head toward the Redguard still standing at the top of the steps. "Silana would have a fit if she could see him now. He shouldn't be up and about."

Elowyn snorted and gave the man a brief, humorless smile. "Men never listen anyway." When the Imperial looked amused instead of offended, she decided she rather liked him. "Call for me if anything happens, hmm?"

Thedret was no longer looking at her as she approached him, and she stiffened when she noticed that his focus was on the weapon in his hand. Shadowrend, the sleek, sable two-handed monster of a sword that had become her secondary weapon over the years, rested comfortably in the man's right hand. Resisting the urge to snatch the weapon away from him, Elowyn lifted an eyebrow and said, "Well, you're either very stupid or very crazy. Best hope it's the latter, because I don't handle the former too well."

The bare-chested and barefoot man glanced up at her and shook his head as if in a daze. "What…?"

"Uh…you'd probably better give me the sword," Elowyn said carefully after a moment of scrutiny. No one had ever attempted to wield the mysterious weapon aside from her – and, well, her shadowy, deceased doppelganger – and she suspected it was not having a favorable affect upon the other Redguard.

Sweat dotted his brow and his eyes had a wavering, distant look. "Sword?" His voice sounded far away and confused, and his eyes drifted down to the weapon still in his grasp. With a shudder, he suddenly thrust the hilt of the sword into Elowyn's outstretched hand. "What…" he breathed as he wiped a nervous hand across his forehead, "what in the name of the Nine is that thing?"

"Oh…just a sword," she told him with a bemused expression. "Never mind that I had to kill myself to attain it." Thedret gave her a look that she was starting to get used to seeing from him, something akin to disbelief with a touch of horror, and she chuckled to herself. "Let me help you back to bed before you hurt yourself."

He shrugged off her attempt to take his arm and braced himself against the wall as he started down the stairs on his own. Elowyn snorted and stayed close beside him. "Pride comes before a _fall_, they say," she taunted. "And this fall is quite literal, _and_ while the chapel healer isn't available to put you back together again."

"I'll be fine," he growled through clenched teeth, and though Elowyn shook her head and laughed, she said nothing more until the recently injured man was back sitting on the edge of his bed.

Elowyn plopped down on her own bed and picked up a stray rag and waterskin to clean the healer's blood from her hands. She was acutely aware of Thedret's eyes on her, and she braced herself for the questions she was certain were coming.

When he was silent for far longer than she had expected, she glanced over at him. "Well? Spit it out already."

"I…" the man looked down at his hands resting on his knees and frowned, "I have no idea where to even begin. How can…how is it possible that you are Elowyn Demark? She…you are supposed to have died years ago."

Elowyn took a long breath and settled herself more comfortably among the mess so that she could face him fully. "In a way…many ways, I did die years ago." She smiled bitterly. "If it weren't for my memories, I could tell you honestly that I am not Elowyn Demark."

"I should have recognized you," he shook his head. "I remember your arena posters, and I visited the statue they built of you in the Imperial City not but a few years back. Maybe I would have realized who you were had I not seen your…inhuman side."

"Yes, well," she idly tugged at a stray thread on the bodice of her dress, "your fault for picking up that torch, hmm?"

He gave a haggard sigh and ran his hand over his hair, loose now and hanging to his shoulders since he had not had time to rebraid it. "How can you be so flippant about this? You are a," his voice dipped dramatically to a low whisper, "a _vampire_, by the Nine! Do you have any idea what would happen if people learned that their beloved hero, the woman who entered Oblivion repeatedly to save them, who stood beside the last Emperor again Mehrunes Dagon was really a bloodthirsty _fiend_? Do you understand that everything you accomplished would be rendered void and useless? Unless…" he eyed her critically as the thought came to him, "unless you always were a vampire…and no one knew…"

"Why, yes of course. I was hatched from an egg and spent my childhood feasting on the blood of children and sewer rats. They taste surprisingly similar." Elowyn sighed at the expression of consternation on Thedret's face, then rubbed at her tired eyes with the tips of her fingers. "I doubt it matters. I cannot imagine that such a revelation would be any worse for my 'good name' than the rumors that already existed ten years ago."

"You speak of the Dark Brotherhood." Thedret searched her face for a long moment, but he seemed dissatisfied with whatever he found there and sighed again. "They say you murdered Adamus Phillida, a good and honorable man. Should I even ask if those rumors are true?"

"You can, but that's no good way to get a girl to open up, now is it? And I'll go out on a limb and say you won't like anything I say anyway, so why waste the time? Why would you even believe me, hmm?"

The man's jaw worked in frustration. "And yet you claim the gods have given you this duty! That they have chosen you to be their champion in this fight!"

To his seemingly unending annoyance, Elowyn laughed aloud. "It's madness, hmm? Yes. Beautiful madness. That's the only reason I do it, my dear knight. Besides, it's not the first time the Nine or some crazy Daedric Prince has used me. And I just sit back and let them."

The last statement was little more than a bitter growl, and Thedret regarded her warily as she slid to her feet and began stuffing her belongings into her pack. After a moment, she said over her shoulder, "You'd better eat that soup, even if it is cold. I'll buy some more restorative potions for you and we'll find you some armor and a weapon that won't try to kill you and a horse that Shadowmere won't try to eat…we'll leave tomorrow morning."

Thedret blinked. "What? We?"

"What, you're going to let me continue this quest alone?" Elowyn smirked and tilted her head when he frowned. "You don't trust me, and with good reason, hmm? I'm saving you the trouble of insisting on coming along. Besides, it gets lonely on the road."

Thedret said nothing for a long moment, and appeared to be mulling over her words. "But…you haven't been able to get to the mace yet. And those creatures could attack again."

"No, I don't think so. I'm pretty sure they attacked because of me, to stop me from obtaining the Crusader's Mace. Not that they needed to make the effort. There's no way to reach it, and believe me, I've tried. Over and over. And over. Clearly I'm missing something." She scowled at her pack as she shoveled the last of her belongings inside. "You'll just have to prove your worth and figure out what it is."


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 18**

"'Your faith will be your guide'?"

Elowyn sighed and ducked under a low tree branch, leaning to one side in Shadowmere's saddle to keep from losing her balance. "That's what he said."

"That's all?"

"Mm-hmm."

"And each time there were no steps, no path, nothing?" Seated upon his new bay gelding, Thedret ducked under the same branch and urged his horse to trot even with Shadowmere. "And when you leapt, you simply…fell?"

"Yep. It was all very dramatic. And pointless. And kind of nauseating, really. What did I tell you about the gods and humor, hmm?"

The man looked thoughtful for a long moment. Elowyn surveyed the surrounding woodland and silently hoped she had not gotten them lost already. Eventually Thedret frowned and sighed. "Well, then you must be right – something is missing."

Elowyn cast him a sidelong glance and bit back a grin. "Must you looked so pained when you agree with me, Sir Thedret?"

Though he looked like he wanted to ignore her, the irritated man demanded, "How do you know I'm a knight? I certainly never told you."

"Oh, it's quite obvious, really." She leaned his direction and lowered her voice. "It's the _smell_. That self-righteous, gods-kissed arrogance swirling around you reeks of lavender with a dash of cinnamon. Hmm…" she sniffed at the air, "maybe a little hint of honey as well…but you keep that well hidden."

She laughed when his scowl deepened and became laced with impatience, and she straightened up and raised her hand in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, I'll come clean. The lovely woman who led the mages holding you captive? She was kind enough to write down all sorts of naughty things about you. Really, the woman had no shame."

"You are an impossible woman," Thedret sighed irritably, but Elowyn was certain there was a blush building under his dark skin.

"Would it surprise you to know that you're not the first man to say that, hmm? Well, as I was saying, her notes included the fact that you are a knight, and that she was fairly certain you knew how to attain the shield."

Thedret's expression went cold. For a moment Elowyn was fascinated by the shift, as well as the ruthlessness in his voice when next he spoke. "You killed her?"

Her smile was cruel and predatory, and she did nothing to hide the satisfaction in her voice. "I ripped out her throat and feasted on her blood. Why do you think I looked so _human_ when I came out with the shield?" When Thedret cast her a nervous glance, she laughed again and lightened her expression. "Even a knight is permitted some measure of joy from the brutal slaughter of his enemy, hmm? It was a quicker death than she deserved, I'm sure."

For a long moment, the man said nothing. Then, very quietly she heard him say, "Perhaps."

Shadowmere took a detour around the opposite edge of a copse of trees while Thedret's mount trotted up and around a short slope. When they met on the other side, the man was still frowning to himself, lost in thought.

"Well," Elowyn said to end the silence, "let's just hope our undead predecessors can give us a hint on how to obtain that blasted mace. They were delightfully vague during my last visit. I don't think they liked me much." She absently fingered the spot on the back of her head where she had lost a braid, and though the hair had been woven in such a way that no one could tell the injury had occurred, Elowyn still felt bitter about the whole thing.

Thedret gave her a hard stare and demanded for the forth or fifth time, Elowyn could not be certain which, "_Where_ are we going?"

"To the Priory of the Nine." Shadowmere drew up short when the answer came from somewhere to their left, and Elowyn blinked in surprise at the sight of the Prophet standing casually beside a tree, leaning his weight on a tall, gnarled staff. "Surprised to see me again, child?"

Elowyn swung off her mount and approached him with a wry smile, and behind her she heard Thedret following suit. "I shouldn't be."

"Indeed." The aged Imperial smiled kindly. "It appears I was right about you."

"Come to gloat, hmm?" Elowyn replied with more bitterness than she had intended. "Here I am, the plaything of the Nine once more. Let's all dance and make merry at the wondrous irony of it all. Enjoy the satisfaction while you can. I'll be back in the Madhouse as soon as Umaril falls, believe me."

The Prophet sighed, but it was an understanding sound. "One day you will have to forgive them, dear child. And yourself."

"Hmm…well, that day is not today."

"So be it," replied the old man with a faint smile. His pale eyes then turned to Thedret and his smile grew. "Ah, the knight of Julianos. 'Tis well that you have survived. How fairs your back, young man?"

Thedret stared in surprise, then looked to Elowyn who only shrugged. "It…it's a bit stiff, but tolerable, sir," he answered carefully. "I'm afraid we have not met."

"He is 'The Prophet'," Elowyn announced with mock authority. "More dramatic nonsense. Why can't they just give you a _normal_ name, hmm?"

"Because names are of little consequence," the Imperial answered with a knowing look. "Labels are worthless. You of all people should understand that, Elowyn Demark, orphan, kin-slayer, prisoner, Grand Champion of the Imperial Arena, Knight Sister of the Blades, Champion of Cyrodiil, Silencer of the…"

"Enough!" Elowyn's temper snapped and she bared her fangs with a little growl of frustration at the passive old man. The hairs on the back of her forearm prickled at the mention of so many of her titles, as if her _soul_ was reacting to the names. It had been years since her anger had gotten the better of her, but she found she did not care for that one, short moment. "I know my life, _Prophet_, and I need no reminders of my past!"

"Indeed." Sympathy was bright in the Imperial's eyes, and Elowyn felt her irritation slowly dissolve. Beside her, she could feel Thedret's calculating eyes on her, but she could not bring herself to look at him. She could not admit how embarrassing it was to lose her cool so suddenly, despite the fact that she felt justified. "It was not my intention to upset you."

"Then say what you're here to say," she replied quietly, unable to hide the sudden weariness in her tone. Again she could not help but wonder what she was doing back in Cyrodiil. "I have things to do."

"That is precisely why I am here. The Nine believe your quest is urgent, child…but not so much that you must feel the need to push yourself so hard."

"Oh, that's helpful."

The Prophet gave her the look that reminded her so much of her father. "You spent four days trying to reach the mace. Over and over you tried to leap the chasm, only to fall into the void. If the Aurorans had not attacked, you might still be there."

Elowyn sighed. "Your point?"

"You are stubborn and driven. These traits are necessary in a hero, but you must remember that there is more to be done than simply beating back a great evil. There is a larger picture at stake, and though you may wish it otherwise, you are a vital thread in this grand tapestry. Do not be blind to what is right before your eyes, child of blood."

The old Imperial turned, leaning heavily on his staff, and started off into the woods. "That's it?" Elowyn called after him incredulously. "You ambush me in the woods to babble about pictures and threads and _tapestries_?" The old man chuckled to himself with a rueful shake of his head but did not look back, and so she called louder, "I remind you that my invitation to the Asylums still stands!"

She and Thedret stood beside their horses for a moment watching the Imperial walk away. "He shouldn't be walking alone in this area," Thedret observed.

Elowyn snorted and threw herself back into Shadowmere's saddle. "I'm not worried. In fact, if a bear eats him, all the better, hmm?"


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 19**

Thedret heard the sound before the woman beside him did. "I thought you said the Priory was deserted," he commented, startling Elowyn from her brooding. She had been sullen since the strange Prophet had spoken to her and Thedret wondered what kept her mind occupied. Nothing pleasant, if her expression was any indication.

"Well, aside from a cadre of irritating spirits, it is," she said, then seemed to suddenly notice the tap-tap-tapping noise as well. "Or…_was_. Are those horses in the stable yard? Do ghosts ride horses?"

Thedret squinted and could barely make out the faint shapes of two large animals milling around the fenced area in the distance. "How can you see that far?"

With a slight smile, Elowyn tapped her temple. "Vampire, hmm? One of the benefits." At Thedret's confused stare, she explained, "I can see traces of…life energy, I suppose. The Detect Life spell you can get at any average Mage's Guild? Imagine that, ten times stronger, and always there. And I can see in the dark."

Thedret tried not to sound impressed, because it was not the kind of thing he should have been intrigued by. "Quite a benefit."

"Don't worry," she grinned in reply, "I'm still just a blood-thirsty beast."

She urged her cantankerous mare into a fast canter, leaving Thedret to sigh at her back and guide his own mount after her. He had to admit that she was not at all what he could have expected in any vampire. Seeing her holding the healer's wound together back in the chapel had startled him. His training told him that all vampires could not resist the sight or scent of blood – and yet she had behaved with as much calm as anyone else present. Not that he was ready to dash aside all of his worries, of course, but things just kept getting stranger and stranger. Especially after the cryptic message from the so-called Prophet…

"Hail!" A tall, muscular Nord waved in friendly greeting as Elowyn trotted into the courtyard, his bare chest dotted with sweat and grime. He pushed his lanky, flaxen hair back from his forehead and hefted an enormous axe in his other hand as the woman dismounted, but his smile was wide as his eyes fixed on her face.

"Well, I'll be damned. Gukimir!" A second Nord who could have passed for the mirror image of the other, looked up from the floorboards he was hammering just inside the entrance of the Priory. "What'd I tell you? I knew that knight was telling the truth! It's really her!"

Thedret dismounted beside Elowyn, then did a double take at the openly lecherous expression on the woman's face as she eyed both of the powerfully built, shirtless men from head to toe. "You have me at a bit of a disadvantage, friend, not that I'm complaining," she grinned, and Thedret had to bite back the urge to snort. The woman was shameless.

"Elowyn Demark, it is an honor to meet you in person," the foremost Nord said with a formal bow. "I am Geimund, and that," he gestured to the other man, who gave a brief nod before returning to his work, "is my brother Gukimir."

"A pleasure to meet you both," she replied, then raised an eyebrow. "Now what are you doing here, hmm? You're going to scare the ghosts. Not that they don't deserve it, mind you."

"We heard rumors that you'd finally returned, my Lady, and that you were rebuilding the great Order of the Knights of the Nine. We have come to offer you our service, if you would have us. We haven't much in the way of weapons and arms, but we have training and we're strong and we take orders well."

Thedret watched the amusement drain fully from Elowyn's face as Geimund spoke. She took a step backward and for a moment he wondered if she was thinking about making a break for the woods. "My friend," she murmured after a long, tense moment, "whatever could you have heard to make you think such a thing? That I would even _desire_ to rebuild this Order…"

The friendly expression on the Nord's face slipped toward confusion, but he shrugged good-naturedly. "It's a bit of a tale, but if you're willing to hear it, I suppose we could use a break."

Elowyn opened her mouth to answer, but Thedret lay a hand on her shoulder. "I think that would be a good idea," he said as much to the Nord as the woman. After a hesitation, Elowyn nodded shortly, and Thedret reached to clasp Geimund's arm in greeting. "Well met, sir. I am Thedret."

"Aye, greetings to you as well," the burly man replied with a firm grip. "Come, we've some mead in our packs. Gukimir! Let's take a break."

Thedret led his horse to the paddock, and Elowyn released Shadowmere into the open field before the four of them gathered around the small camp the two brothers shared. Thedret accepted the offered mead, but Elowyn only gave a slight shake of her head and sat cross-legged opposite the men. She was withdrawn and frowning, and Thedret was oddly concerned at her change in behavior, though he himself was torn about this strange turn of events.

"We've been here only a few days," Geimund explained, then nodded toward the construction being done on the buildings, "but we're making good progress on the place. Floors are nearly done, the roof we did first, some of the walls need work but all in all, not a bad place to call home once it's back together."

"Oh, yes," Elowyn answered with a snide wave of her hand, "the undead spirit knights in the cellar just _scream_ 'home-sweet-home', hmm? Let me guess – you've yet to visit the tomb."

The brothers exchanged a glance, and Geimund shook his head slowly as he answered. "We found a door on the lower level, on the far side of the training room but we could not open it. Is this the tomb you speak of?"

"Yes, but…" she sighed and ran her hand over her braids and picked at the end of one nervously. "Look, it doesn't matter. How did you know I would be here? Who told you I'd returned? I haven't exactly been dancing in the city streets seeking attention. Why do I have the feeling that if I had, no one would have noticed, but because I wished to remain anonymous, everyone has found me out!"

"I…" Geimund cleared his throat and seemed to lose his confidence in lieu of the woman's erratic words. Thedret did not blame him – the woman was downright twitchy when she was upset. "Well, Gukimir and I met up with a knight up Bruma way. Sir Roderic was his name, aye?" The quieter brother nodded his agreement, and Geimund continued. "Well, he and his young squire were talking about their pilgrimage. The knight was a few drinks in, mind you, and maybe he'd not have mentioned it if he wasn't, but he said he'd seen the Champion of Cyrodiil at the Wayshrine of Stendarr.

"Well, Gukimir and I couldn't believe it. You'd been gone so long, all but declared dead really, but we couldn't just up and let it go. We headed down through Chorrol to Skingrad looking for more rumors and ran across a farmer who said he'd seen activity out this way. He claimed this was once a stronghold of those who serve the Nine, and what with the knight's talk of some Umaril fellow and prophecies and whatnot, we decided it was worth seeing with our own eyes."

"That doesn't explain why you believe I'm putting the Order back together!" Elowyn cried with a giddy little laugh that put Thedret's nerves on edge. "That's just a mess of circumstance and coincidence!"

"Perhaps, my Lady," Geimund replied with a measure of calm that Thedret had to admire, "but then came the old man. When we got here, an Imperial was sitting on the stoop, said he'd been waiting for us. He's the one who told us to wait for you, told us to start rebuilding. He said," the Nord frowned and his brown wrinkled in concentration, "he said 'don't be blind to the bigger picture'. Told us to tell you that."

Elowyn's expression was utterly blank, but Thedret was positive he saw a terrible anger flash in her eyes for the briefest of moments. Then all at once she was on her feet and stalking away from them through the field toward where Shadowmere was quietly grazing.

"Was it something I said?" the Nord asked with a mystified shake of his head.

"Don't worry," Thedret assured him as he climbed to his feet, "I'll go speak with her. I think this whole set of events has caught her off guard."

The brothers wished him luck and rose to return to their work, and Thedret took a deep breath before crossing the clearing toward the woman and her horse. Her arms were wound around the mare's neck in an embrace, and it was endearing to see the animal tugging at the beads in the woman's hair with her teeth in a playful gesture. Or it might have been endearing had he not known that the woman was a vampire and the horse was pure evil the likes of which he had never encountered before in all of Tamriel.

As if to prove this, Shadowmere bared her teeth threateningly at the man over Elowyn's shoulder as he approached. "My Lady?"

"If there's one thing I cannot stand," she mumbled against the horse's flank, "it's false formality."

He sighed. "Elowyn, I know you are upset. And I think I understand, but…"

"You do?" The woman turned on him, her head cocked to one side as she took a menacing step toward him. "You _DO_? You _should_, you know. You're in the same boat, hmm?"

Thedret stood his ground even though the look in her crimson eyes was unnerving. "What are you talking about?"

"You…" the woman bit off her words and let her chin fall against her chest with a defeated sigh. After a heartbeat, he was startled to see her shoulders trembling, but he realized that she was not crying but laughing. "And he tells _me_ not to be blind. Hah!"

"Elowyn, I…" He frowned when her fingers moved to the clasps of her breastplate and began to loosen the piece of armor. "What are you doing?"

When she looked up, her eyes were bright, but despite her wide smile he was not convinced that what she felt was anything close to joy. "Pitching in," she answered with a nod toward the buildings behind him. "I have an Order to rebuild, hmm?"

She laughed under her breath and walked around him as she tugged at the buckles on her pauldrons. Thedret watched her for a few seconds, feeling completely at a loss, then called, "Are you going to be okay?"

With her back still toward him, she paused. "Of course." Her next words were spoken so quietly that he was never sure if he heard them right. "I always am. Even when I don't want to be."


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 20**

"Easy…easy…hey, watch the doorframe!" Geimund let loose a foul string of curses as his fingers caught between the object in his hands and the doorway, and Elowyn snorted out a laugh and shifted her end of the heavy table to compensate. "Careful! You damage the wood and I'll have you mucking the stables for a week. Naked. With your bare hands and a pair of tongs."

The Nord grumbled something under his breath about ungrateful wenches, but the sentiment was ruined by the smirk on his face as he resettled his grip on the table. Elowyn glanced over her shoulder when Thedret called, "Need a hand?"

The other Redguard was helping unload the rest of the furniture from a cart drawn by two of their horses. Not Shadowmere of course, as the mare seemed to see such a task as insulting. A male Bosmer stood on the cart handing down the smaller pieces to Thedret and Gukimir.

"Yeah, send Brellin here to take over for Geimund," she called back with a lopsided grin at the Wood Elf. "We can prove some of my theories involving _size_, hmm? And its distinct lack of importance?"

Brellin blushed and ducked his head to hide a smile. Since his arrival a few days earlier, when he all but begged to be knighted, Elowyn had been surprised and downright amused at his behavior. She had never, in all her years, met a Bosmer as shy as this one. She had never met a shy Bosmer at all, come to think of it. He was deadly quick with a blade, and his archery skills were impressive even for one of his race, but he preferred to spend his time alone somewhere quiet, either fletching or reading some dusty old tome. This, of course, urged Elowyn to force him into uncomfortable situations as often as possible. For his own good, of course.

Her amusement was cut short when Geimund jerked the table, nearly sending her to her knees as she struggled to balance the weight in her hands. The big Nord just laughed at the fierce expression on her face and the pair focused their efforts on maneuvering the shared burden into the dining room.

Elowyn let out a heavy breath and wiped at the grimy sweat on her forehead with the back of her arm after they set the table in place. "Well. Who knew this place could look so homey?"

"I like it," Geimund nodded his agreement. He clapped the woman on the shoulder in a rough, friendly gesture and sighed in satisfaction as they surveyed the new rugs and drapes that covered the reworked floors and walls. "Less than a fortnight to complete, too. Impressive work, if I do say so myself."

"Come on, Sir Modesty," Elowyn prodded his ribs with her elbow, "there's still work to be done before we can celebrate your victory, hmm?"

"Speaking of celebrate…" the Nord mused to himself as he followed her out the door. "Hey, Gukimir!" The other Nord tilted his head toward his brother to indicate he was listening but did not pause in his work. "Well? Did you get 'em?"

"Aye," Gukimir grunted, which Elowyn was beginning to believe was the full extent of his vocabulary. The quiet man reached over the railing of the cart to pat some large object covered with a blanket before he gathered a few chairs to carry into the Priory.

Elowyn raised an eyebrow in question, but Geimund just laughed and waved her off. "You'll find out tomorrow. Work to be done, remember?"

"Hmm…how convenient. _Now_ you want to work. I…" she trailed off and frowned into the distance as she raised her hand to shield the sun from her eyes. "Now who in Oblivion could _that_ be? Is there a bloody _sign_ on the main road pointing hapless travelers this way? I'm going to start feeding them to Shadowmere, I swear."

"No, but a sign's not such a bad idea," Geimund answered with a thoughtful shrug, and only the shine in his blue eyes revealed that he was teasing her.

"Ah, they're early," Thedret cut in as he himself shaded his eyes and watched the approaching plume of dust. "Of course, they didn't have to fight their way through those brigands either."

"Ah, of course. 'They.' I should have known. And yes, those _nasty_ brigands. How could I forget?" She continued to smile brightly at Thedret, but her tone went flat. "Since I wasn't there. And you haven't told me about it."

"Anyone ever tell you that you look like a ruffled up mama bear when you're griping?" Geimund observed.

Elowyn waggled her finger at him and with a threatening grin. "I have a backhand like a mama bear, too." She caught sight of the expression on Thedret's face and sighed. "Did you see what you almost did, Geimund? You _almost_ got Thedret to laugh. I cannot allow that to happen. If it should happen, I might have to acknowledge that he _does_ have a sense of humor buried somewhere – and if _that_ happens, the next Oblivion invasion would shortly follow, I'm just certain of it."

The Redguard man shook his head and walked out to meet the small wagon rolling toward them, and though the Nord chuckled at the exchange, Geimund caught Elowyn's elbow. "You don't always have to be giving the poor lad such a hard time. Not everyone enjoys your tongue-lashings like I do."

She snorted and waved him off. "I give everyone the same measure of tongue. If Thedret doesn't like it, he can leave any time."

"I don't think he wants to leave," the Nord said quietly, then added knowingly, "and I don't think he'd mind a different kind of tongue-lashing from you either. Lad can't take his eyes off you. Didn't even like us dragging him to Skingrad for supplies without you along."

Geimund raised his hands in surrender at the flat stare Elowyn turned on him then walked after the other man toward the oncoming wagon, leaving her to frown at their backs. She could not tell the Nord the real reason for Thedret's attention, and she could not explain why she took the occasional unfair swipe at the other Redguard.

The truth was, she was waiting. Waiting for Thedret to tell them the truth about her. Waiting for him to reveal that she was not really out grooming Shadowmere in the forest when she disappeared for hours every evening. Waiting for him to admit that the reason the others never saw her take a meal was not because she liked to eat in her private chambers. Waiting for him to confess that her eyes were not just _unusual_.

_Waiting_.

And the waiting was killing her. For nearly twelve days she had waited for him to speak, yet he had remained silent. Part of her was actually hoping he would spill the beans so she could skip back off to the Madhouse. But no such luck. He had supported the choice to rebuild the Order under her leadership, and he had thrown his back into the work that needed to be done. He had even expressed the desire to personally help her track down the rest of the artifacts. And inside, even as she _waited_ still for the moment he would choose to turn on her, she had to laugh at the madness of it all. It really was beautiful, she decided. Even if it did piss her off.

"Sergius!" Thedret hailed the driver of the small wagon with a genuine smile. "Good to see you've arrived in one piece, my friend."

"We saw not a soul the entire way," the Imperial in question answered as he pulled his carthorse to a stop and hopped down from the wagon. Elowyn, however, was staring rather pointedly at the other man who climbed down the opposite side of the wagon.

"You know I shouldn't be surprised, should I, Carodus?" The younger Imperial cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly as she shook her head at him. "Men really _can't_ listen. I told you that, hmm? And…" she pivoted in a half circle and looked to the east in confusion, "aren't you coming from the wrong direction? I'm just terrible with directions."

"If you'd just let me explain…" he started.

"Oh, please do." The woman gave him a mocking bow and a charming smile. "I'm certain you have excellent reasons for abandoning the Great Chapel when I expressly asked you to keep it, and its vulnerable inhabitants, and the _mace_, safe from Umaril's forces should they return. I await your excuses with baited breath, really."

"The chapel is safe," Carodus insisted after he quickly shook off his initial uncertainty. Elowyn suspected that the way Geimund was choking back a laugh had something to do with it. "After you left, I petitioned the Count and Countess for aid, and they responded with _thirty men_. I wasn't needed there, and so I followed the rumors of you to Skingrad."

"And we saw him there while purchasing supplies," Thedret added with a self-satisfied glint in his brown eyes. "The more knights, the merrier…isn't that what you said, my Lady?"

"Careful. Your almost sense of humor is showing."

The corner of Thedret's mouth twitched, but he gestured to the older Imperial at his side. "Allow me to introduce Sergius Turrianus, an old friend of mine, and a blacksmith of no small talent who just happens to be looking for a good cause."

Elowyn regarded them blankly for a long moment, then let her eyebrows rise in surprise. "Oh. A 'good cause' meaning us, hmm?"

Thedret only shook his head and said to Sergius with a gesture toward the woman, "And this, my friend, is…"

"Elowyn Demark." The middle aged man smiled and clasped her arm in greeting. "The Grand Champion of the Imperial Arena. You know, I saw your battle against the Gray Prince all those years ago. Amazing."

"Never mind stopping the Oblivion invasion," she grinned in reply. "I like a man who has his priorities straight. Well met, sir." She glanced around at the gathered men and laughed aloud. "Well you seem to have everything under control. Whatever do you need me for, hmm? I'm a terrible cook, mind you."

"You know the answer to that," Geimund said with a hard slap on her shoulder. "Without a woman around to bitch about everything, how would we ever get anything done?"


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 21**

"No. Absolutely not." Thedret crossed his arms over his chest and took the stubborn stance he knew he had learned from his mother. His irritation with the situation doubled when Elowyn chuckled at the display.

"Well, why not?" Geimund demanded with an equally stubborn expression, though it seemed more effective coming from the enormous man.

"Why _not_?" Thedret scoffed, then pointed to the keg of ale and crate of spirits beside the Nord. "Because drunken carousing is absolutely unseemly for a knightly order, that's why! Is this how you wish the Knights of the Nine to be defined?"

"Drunken carousing?" The Nord let out a disbelieving laugh. "It's just a little celebration among comrades at arms for a job well done! Don't you think we've earned it?"

Elowyn pointed out with a wicked grin, "Not to mention that there are far too few women here for _carousing_. Unless you plan on carousing with each other, hmm? Not an entirely _bad_ idea, in my humble opinion…"

Thedret scowled at her, but said to the Nord, "There are any number of ways to celebrate that don't include drowning yourself in ale! How did you even manage to sneak that garbage into the cart without me noticing?"

"Sneaky, sneaky Nords," Elowyn snickered and plopped down on the front stoop of the Priory to watch them. "I warned you to keep an eye on them." The sun had just set, and in the light of the single torch outside, her eyes danced with amusement.

"I shouldn't be surprised that _you_ support this," Thedret snapped, and immediately regretted it. He had learned that he was much better off ignoring her than responding to her baiting. He threw up his hands in surrender and stomped into the building. "You know what – do what you will. Just leave me out of it."

He heard the Nord grumble something, and Elowyn laughed, but Thedret refused to be drawn back in and instead made straight for the basement. Sergius glanced up at him from behind his forge, but said nothing until the Redguard stormed into the training room and jerked a practice blade from the stand.

"Problems?"

Thedret struck a stance and swung the blade in an arc toward the practice dummy. It bit into the wood with a satisfying _thunk_. "What makes you think that?"

The blacksmith snorted and walked around the counter, wiping his hands on his apron. "I've known you since you were a boy, Thed. I've been watching you the last two days. I haven't seen you this moody since…" his face fell and sadness laced his voice, "well, since your daddy left. And that's saying a lot."

The sword flew twice more, and Thedret ignored the way his middle back gave a twinge with each swing. Though the wound had healed better than he had expected, the scars were still often stiff and achy. "It's nothing," he grunted before throwing another blow at the dummy.

"Don't give me that, you stubborn ass."

"It's _nothing_," he repeated with one final swing before he sighed and let his stance go limp. After a moment of internal debate, the words tumbled out of his mouth. "It's just…have you ever known something, something _important_, something that people should know…but if you told them, it would do more harm than good?" He stared over at the older man with a look that was half helpless, half searching. "That the truth was, for once, worse than the lie?"

The Imperial scratched his chin thoughtfully and mulled over the words. "Can't honestly say I have, son. And without knowing just what you're talking about here, I can't rightly give you a second opinion on the matter either."

Thedret sighed and rolled his neck and shoulders to loosen the tension. "Ah, forget it. I'm fine, Serg. Just…anxious to get on with things."

Sergius observed him quietly for a moment, then nodded and strode back toward the forge. "Are you going to pout down here all night, or do you plan to join the party? I hear those Nord brothers have gone beyond the call of duty for this little celebration."

"Oh, yes," Thedret replied snidely as he sized up the dummy again, "out of their way to turn the whole lot of you into stumbling drunks. I don't understand the point of this 'party.' This is _not_ what the members of a knightly order should concern themselves with!" He squared his shoulders and sighed through his nose. "And I'm not pouting."

The Imperial grunted out a laugh and hung up his apron on the hook beside his forge. "Well, enjoy your alone time, Thed. I'll save an ale for you."

Thedret growled as the sword flew again, and again, but the moment he heard the door click shut behind his friend, the Redguard slumped and let the weapon dangle limply in his grasp. He did not want to admit it, _could not _admit it, but gods be damned he was tired. And it was all that _vampire's_ fault.

He had spent the last two weeks in suspense. _Waiting_. She could not be the hero she once was, not with that disease coursing through her veins. He was waiting for a sign, a subtle shift, or an all out explosion, he could not be sure which, but it, whatever _it_ turned out to be, had to be coming. The woman was a vampire, she controlled at least one daedra who believed her to be a god, and it was very obvious that she was quite mad. At least obvious to him – everyone else seemed not to notice. Either that or they just did not care.

Thedret sighed and placed the sword back on the rack. He lingered there for a moment and ran one callused hand down over his eyes before he made for one of the basins of water along the far wall. The cool splash felt wonderful against his skin, but did nothing to sooth his restless mind. He stared down at the droplets of water dripping from his nose, watched his own reflection distort and waver.

She had saved his life. He knew that, and it was the biggest reason he shoved all of his training to the back of his mind and _improvised_ for the first time in years. She had taken an incredible risk in trying to rescue him in the first place, never mind the insanity of still saving him _after_ he had seen her true face. He probably would not have betrayed her trust even then because a life debt was a life debt after all. But learning that she was Elowyn Demark, one of Tamriel's true heroes, had all but carved into stone his commitment to keep her..._disease _a secret.

He would not be the one to destroy a legend. He would not be the man who crushed the reputation of a person who had saved thousands of lives, given hope to the people when they had none, stepped willingly into Oblivion to fight an impossible battle. Some of the stories he had heard of her sounded like nothing more than exaggerated fantasy, and yet the end result was undeniable. The lands were safe, and the people loved her, even after all these years.

Yet he still could not trust her, and he would have thought himself a fool if he had. Sometimes, watching her as she watched the knights, _her_ knights, he felt like he would burst from the burden of what he knew. They, above all, deserved to know the truth. As she prepared to continue the quest for the artifacts, should they not be given the chance to make a choice for themselves if they truly wished to serve under this woman?

He had sought council from Julianos, but his prayers had gone unanswered. He had even followed Elowyn into the tomb where she claimed the ghost of one of his ancestors, a member of the original Knights of the Nine, now dwelt. Perhaps the spirit could provide some kind of guidance. But Thedret had seen nothing but dust and cobwebs, an observation which made Elowyn laugh and point out, once again, that the gods have a horrific sense of humor.

He was not certain how long he lingered in the basement, lost in thought. Eventually, an outburst of sound carried to him from the floor above. He tilted his head to listen, and his frown faded to a look of uncertain disbelief as he heard the distinct sound of singing above the rhythmic _thump, thump_ of feet suddenly stomping the floor. Very poor, very drunken singing.

_Well, a Nord clad in kilt left the bar one evening fair_

_And one could tell by how he walked that he'd drunk more than his share_

Thedret cracked open the basement door and blinked as the first thing he saw was Elowyn and Geimund atop the dining room table, their arms hooked as they laughed and circled each other in lively dance.

_He fumbled 'round until he could no longer keep his feet_

_And he stumbled off into the grass to sleep beside the street_

Thedret could only stare as the other laughing knights clapped and stomped along with the chorus.

_Ring-ding-diddle-iddle-a-ladio, Ring di diddle-e-i-o_

_He stumbled off into the grass to sleep beside the street_

The Nord stopped to reach down and catch his brother by the arm, then swung him up and into his place to dance a turn with Elowyn while Geimund flopped into a vacant chair. The woman laughed, obviously delighted when Gukimir hooked his arm in hers and added his rarely heard baritone to the next verses.

_About that time two young and lovely girls just happened by_

_One says to the other with a twinkle in her eye_

"_See yon sleeping Nord so strong and handsome built_

_I wonder if it's true what they don't wear beneath the kilt"_

_Ring-ding-diddle-iddle-a-ladio, Ring di diddle-e-i-o_

_I wonder if it's true what they don't wear beneath the kilt_

_They crept up on that sleeping Nord quiet as could be_

_Lifted up his kilt about an inch so they could see_

_And there behold for them to view beneath the man's skirt_

_Was nothin' more than the gods had graced him with upon his birth_

_Ring-ding-diddle-iddle-a-ladio, Ring di diddle-e-i-o_

_Was nothin' more than the gods had graced him with upon his birth_

Carodus, Sergius and even shy, blushing Brellin danced a turn with the woman upon the table, and though she was flushed and shining with sweat, her enthusiasm shone in her eyes. It was strangely painful for Thedret to bear the knowledge that she was not the human she appeared to be.

_They marveled for a minute then one said, "We must be gone._

_Let's leave a present for our friend before we move along"_

_As a gift they left a blue silk ribbon tied into a bow_

_Around the bonnie star the Nord's kilt did lift and show_

_Ring-ding-diddle-iddle-a-ladio, Ring di diddle-e-i-o_

_Around the bonnie star the Nord's kilt did lift and show_

She noticed him at some point, standing halfway up the stairs to the basement, staring at her and the other knights enjoying their celebration. For a half-second, her smile faltered, her eyes dimmed, and the look she gave him was sad…regretful. And, oddly enough, he found he _hated_ that look, and hated even more that _he_ had caused it.

Then he blinked, and her grin had returned in full force as she gestured to him. Though he started to shake his head, the drunken knights would have none of it and before he realized what was happening, he found himself hauled forward and up to stand on the table in front of the laughing woman.

Elowyn offered him her arm with a challenging lift of her brows, and though he could feel his embarrassment building, Thedret was spurred on by the singing of his comrades and hesitantly accepted her challenge. Though her skin was cool as always, she radiated a simmering heat from exertion, and her infectious smile soon had him chuckling as he joined in the song against his better judgment.

_Now the Nord woke to nature's call and stumbled towards the trees_

_Behind the bush he lifts his kilt and gawks at what he sees_

_And in a startled voice he says to what's before his eyes_

_"Oh, lad I don't know where you've been, but I see you've won first prize"_

_Ring-ding-diddle-iddle-a-ladio, Ring di diddle-e-i-o_

_"Oh, lad I don't know where you've been, but I see you've won first prize"_

The last chorus repeated a few times, but it was mostly lost to raucous hoots and laughter. Elowyn stumbled on one of the tankards on the table and tried to grab Thedret for balance. Unprepared, he could not find his own footing, and the pair tumbled off the table in a heap, much to the delight of their inebriated audience.

"The lad hasn't even had a single drink and he's falling all over himself!" Geimund roared around his tankard of ale.

Laughing, Elowyn and Thedret helped each other to their feet, and the woman snagged a bottle of spirits from the table and held it out to her final dance partner. "We'll have to remedy that, hmm?" she called back at the Nord, though her eyes stayed fixed on Thedret's face with a curious expectation in her gaze.

He eyed the bottle for a moment, his stubbornness and pride struggling with some other, less used part of him. Finally he nodded and accepted the drink. "You win," he told her with a faint smile at the triumphant expression on her face. "For the moment."

Besides, he added to himself, perhaps he could use this opportunity to his advantage.

* * *

**A/N: **The song is a slight modified version of "Under the Scotsman's Kilt" by Mike Cross, I believe. I'm aware that Nords probably don't wear anything like a kilt, but I like the song too much to leave it out. :)


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N:** I'm in the process of packing up my entire life while gutting a new house and still dealing with the day-to-day insanity of my four kids, so if I don't respond to reviews, please know that I do love them. :) I've just picked a really messy point in life to start posting this story is all.

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 22**

Elowyn flopped down in one of the dining room chairs to catch her breath. She did not want to admit just how pleased she was that Thedret had joined them, so she drowned the thought in another ale. Not that she could actually get drunk – she had not been able to since accepting Vincente's gift so many years ago – but it was the thought that counted.

"Come, Geimund," she called to the Nord, "entertain us with a tale!"

He gave a mocking bow that sloshed ale all down the front of his tunic, though he seemed not to notice. "And what would my Lady wish to hear?"

Thedret, still very much sober, chimed in. "Tell us why you wished to become a knight."

"Boring," Elowyn groaned with a fake yawn, though she knew very well his reasons for asking such a question, "and very predictable. But sure, tell us, hmm? I don't think I can take another song like the last one."

The big man gave a halfhearted shrug and drained his cup. "It's no remarkable tale. Gukimir and myself never were the type to settle down and stay in one place for long. 'Course," he snorted and gave his brother a friendly shove, "up until a few years back, we didn't much like each other."

The quieter man gave him a dry look. "Nothing to do with the fact that you're a big mouth, showoff, lying braggart."

Elowyn choked on a laugh, but Geimund did not seem at all offended. "Oh, I was worse than all that, I can admit it. Worked as a mercenary for some pretty unpleasant folks. I figured coin was coin, so I told myself it didn't bother me how I earned it. Gukimir was working as a caravan guard at the time. Somehow, we both ended up in the same tiny town at the same time, sat down over some tankards, and got to talking for the first time in years. We'd both had enough of doing bad to folks who didn't deserve it, and it just seemed natural to want to do something about it.

"We wandered around Skyrim for a few years, doing what we could, but it never felt like enough. Eventually we came south, ended up in Bruma, and had only been there what…a ten-day?" Gukimir nodded, and his brother continued. "Aye, a ten-day, when that knight showed up talking about you. Seems like the gods wanted us to find each other."

"Indeed," Elowyn agreed, but her tone was without warmth. Of course that was what the gods wanted. Anything to further the goals of the Nine.

"I feel the same way," Carodus spoke up with a thoughtful nod. Apparently he was the contemplative kind of drunk. "Like the gods put me in your path for just this reason. Like I've been waiting my whole life to make a difference, and now I finally can."

"How did you end up at the Great Chapel of Zenithar anyway?" Elowyn pried, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"Well…I don't remember my parents. I grew up with a few other street urchins in Leyawiin, and we mostly stayed low and just tried to scrape by." The Imperial frowned into his tankard before he drained the contents in one quick drink. "The guards gave us a hard time one night, and I wanted revenge. I broke into the chapel and stole the offering right off the altar. It wasn't more than a handful of coins and cheap gems, but I felt great, like I'd won some great victory or something…until I got caught, that is.

"I thought for sure the old healer – the one before Silana took over, that is – I thought she'd turn me in to the guards right then. But she didn't. She took me in, gave me jobs to do to _earn_ money and food rather than steal it, even arranged for me to be trained by the Fighter's Guild. After I got older…I don't know, I just felt obligated to stay around." He chuckled to himself and turned a grateful look toward Elowyn. "I'm glad I did."

"Yeah, me too, I suppose," the woman teased. "Even if you don't take orders very well. That's a male thing though, and hardly your fault." She turned her eyes on Brellin, who sat silently next to Carodus. "Well, it's your turn, my elven friend. What's your story?"

The shy Bosmer shifted and frowned worriedly at his lap. "I'm not sure it's the kind of tale to be told when we should be celebrating," he said quietly.

Elowyn was startled by the haunted look behind his soft eyes. She shrugged and replied, "I'm not going to break your arm if you don't tell us. Not today, at least. Still, it would be nice to know what you fight for."

Brellin fidgeted for a moment more, then let out a shaky sigh. "I fight for my wife."

"Oh-ho-ho!" Grinning, Geimund leaned on the table and grinned at the Bosmer. "She one of them cute little Wood Elf girls? I don't know what it is about them, but they just drive me wild."

Elowyn gave the Nord a playful slap on the arm to silence him, then waited for Brellin to respond. "Um…no," the Elf said with a dark frown. "She…was a Dunmer."

Elowyn caught the operative word, and before any crude remarks could be made she echoed, "Was?" At his hesitant nod, she sighed. "She's dead?"

"Yes." A sullen silence fell over the gathering of people, but Brellin surprised them when he spoke again. "We were adventurers. And we were pretty good at it too, but we were young and stupid…all it takes is one mistake.

"We walked into an ambush, got taken captive. We'd killed several of the marauders, including the leader's son. He…" the Bosmer swallowed hard, "he tied me to a tree and made me watch while they…did to my wife what you probably expect a bastard in that line of work would do. Then he slit our throats and left us to die."

Elowyn's eyes were drawn to the jagged scar on the Elf's throat, and sympathy and outrage welled up in her. She almost felt guilty for all the playful jabs she had taken at the man.

"A passing patrol found us, and against all odds, I was still alive. Leyna was not so fortunate. At first all I wanted was revenge, but after a while I came to believe that the gods had spared me so that I could protect others from suffering as I have. As my wife suffered." Silence fell again, and Brellin let out an uncertain little laugh. "Told you it wasn't a story for parties."

"I'm glad you told us," Elowyn assured him with a genuine smile. "Your wife would be proud of you, I know it. Still…I don't think any story will be able to follow that one."

"Nonsense," Geimund grunted, then turned his eyes on Thedret. "The Redguard started this whole mess – so let's hear it."

Thedret blinked. "Me?"

"Aye, what's your story?"

Brellin seemed relieved to have their focus off of him, so Elowyn sat forward and propped her elbows on the table to grin across at the other Redguard. "Yes, I'd like to hear that as well, _my Lord_. But I doubt you've had enough to drink to spill your story, hmm? Someone hand him another bottle."

"There's not much to tell," answered the frowning man.

"Ugh, your modesty is disgusting," Sergius spoke up, ignoring the warning stare Thedret gave him. "The lad here is a survivor, that's for damned sure. He and his mother both. What're you glaring at me like that for?"

Thedret tried to soften his expression, but his agitation was palpable. Elowyn loved every minute of it. "I just don't see why it's important," he ground out.

"So you want to dig for information from my knights," Elowyn purred, "but we're not allowed to dig back, hmm?"

"You should be proud of yourself, Thed," Sergius added with a chastising frown. "Not many would have turned out as you have, given the same circumstances."

Thedret's jaw worked for a moment, then he said quickly, "My father moved us here from Hammerfell when I was just a baby. He abandoned my mother and me a few years later to seek glory on the high seas. Sergius took us under his wing, gave my mother a job, and taught me how to smith and fight. And…there you have it."

"Now, see?" Elowyn leaned back in her chair with a big, satisfied grin. "Was that so hard?"

"What of you, _my Lady_?" Thedret's eyes narrowed and he pinned her with a hard stare. "What's _your_ story?"

There was a round of encouraging grunts from the other knights, but Elowyn only shrugged. "Most people already know what needs to be known about me. And then some."

"Well," Geimund slurred, "there's definitely something we don't know. Like where in Oblivion you've been for more than ten years, aye?"

Elowyn laughed and shook her head, hoping her nervousness did not show through the calm facade. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try us." Thedret was giving her the challenging look she had given him not long before when she had persuaded him to dance with her. She could not simply ignore it.

"Very well then, but you've been warned. It starts with a doorway, a _strange_ doorway, out in the Niben Bay…"

For hours she recounted the events that had transpired from the moment she stepped through to the Shivering Isles. She spoke of Haskill, and defeating the Gate Guardian. She told them of Sheogorath taking her as his champion, of her betrayal of the Aureals at Cylarne, of dethroning the Duchess of Dementia. She told them everything, even up to the final, grueling battle against Jyggalag, and his cryptic parting words afterward about her blurring the lines between god and mortal.

It was not clear just how much they believed, if any of it, and how much they took as a story to entertain drunks. They laughed, asked questions, and expressed outrage and disbelief at all the proper places. Only Thedret remained silent the whole time, his eyes intense as he drank in everything she said. She was not sure why, but Elowyn found herself curious if he believed her.

When the tale was over, she sat back and watched them, waiting. They were, by then, very drunk, and she was somewhat surprised that no one had passed out yet.

After a thoughtful moment, Geimund grunted and grinned. "Look at us. All of us have overcome more than our share of life's troubles, and come out stronger for it. Umaril won't know what hit him." The other knights chuckled and nodded their agreement, then the Nord stood, wobbled, then raised his tankard. "To the Knights of the Nine!"

Elowyn scoffed and lurched to her feet before anyone could echo the call. She shoved his cup down, sloshing ale all over both of them, but she just smirked and raised her own bottle. "To the Knights of Madness."

"Aye!" the Nord cried with a bellowed laugh, his voice joined by the other drunken men. "To the Knights of Madness indeed!"


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 23**

It was past four o'clock in the morning when the last of them finally drifted off to bed. Elowyn had feigned sleep for more than an hour by then, sprawled gracelessly across one of the dining room chairs, and her impatience knew no bounds. With the drunken snores of her sleeping knights echoing in the Priory, she crept quietly to her tiny private room on the second floor, jotted a quick note, gathered her armor and weapons and slipped through the front door unnoticed.

They would be angry when they figured it out, she knew, but she found she did not care as much as she probably should have. Just because the gods had saddled her with them did not mean she needed to drag her knights all over the place gathering artifacts. And she definitely did not need Thedret breathing down her neck the whole time either.

Shadowmere was waiting for her at the edge of the clearing, and without a word she saddled the mare and set out north. Only once did she stop at a farmhouse to slip quietly inside for a necessary meal, which proved yet another reason she needed to do trips like this alone. Thedret probably believed that she fed only on murderers, thieves and brigands. In a perfect world, perhaps it would have been so, but this world was far from perfect, and she could not afford to ignore her hunger for blood.

For the rest of the trip to Kynareth's Shrine, Elowyn allowed herself to think fondly about the night before. She could not remember the last time she had danced and laughed so much, but she could vividly recall the last time she had felt so close to a group of people. It frightened her to think of losing them as she had lost the Brotherhood. She firmly shoved that thought out of her mind. It served no purpose to dwell on fear, not when she was in no position to abandon her purpose.

She was not certain if telling them about the Madhouse had been a good decision, especially since Thedret had at least one reason to believe it was true. Not that he had proven untrustworthy thus far, but for some reason she seemed inclined to give him too much information about herself. Was she making a mistake trusting him, trusting any of them? They probably did not even believe her, but her worries nagged at her nonetheless. She was still arguing with herself when Shadowmere trotted to a halt near the Shrine of Kynareth.

"Greetings." A weathered Imperial woman in the most boring gray robe Elowyn had ever seen approached them. The woman made a soothing sound at Shadowmere, and to the Redguard's surprise, the horse lowered her head and allowed the woman to stroke her nose. "My name is Avita Vesnia, humble servant of Kynareth."

"Well met," the vampire answered as she swung out of her saddle. "I'm…"

"Elowyn Demark." The woman gave a slow, enigmatic smile, furrowing the deep wrinkles on her leathery skin. "Word of your timely reappearance has reached us even here, my Lady. You must be seeking the boots then."

"Then they _are_ here? Well that was easy."

Avita's smile slipped slightly. "They are here, yes…but Kynareth wishes to test you, to measure your worth. After all, it would not do to simply give them away."

Impatience swelled within her, but Elowyn tried to dampen it. It was not the servant's fault that the gods were insipid twits. As if it were not enough that she had left her own realm to do this task for them. "Of course not. It's not enough that I do their will and fight their fights. So, what kind of test is it to be, hmm?"

"That I cannot say. The boots are housed within the Grove," the older woman pointed through a break in the trees, "but the door will not open to one who is unproven. Prove yourself and the boots are yours, my Lady."

Elowyn eyed the other woman and frowned. She had a pretty good idea that the priestess knew what was in store for her, but if this was the game the gods wished to play, then Elowyn would go along with it. _Only_ for the sake of the mortals who would suffer otherwise. And because it was madness. And because if she returned to the Priory without the boots, Thedret would scold her both for sneaking out and for failing to come back with anything of use.

"Very well. Mere…wait here."

"Before you go," the Imperial's eyes glittered, her smile completely gone, "Kynareth wishes me to remind you that nature is to be feared and respected. At all costs."

Elowyn snorted and turned away. "Yes, that's not at all ominous, is it?"

The midmorning sun was bright and cheerful, birds chirped and flitted from tree to tree, and there was a general sense of peace in the lands around the shrine. As Elowyn approached the Grove, the feeling grew and she felt as though all of her worldly cares were slight and trivial. She wanted nothing more than to strip away her armor and lay herself down on the soft grass beneath her feet and simply watch the clouds roll by in the bright blue sky overhead. Maybe Kynareth was not such an irritating god after all. For a Divine.

The bushes to her left shook and trembled, and with a quizzical frown Elowyn took a step toward them. The leaves seemed to explode outward in a rush of angry fur and claws. She reeled back as an enormous bear thundered toward her, the sun reflecting off the shimmering silvers and golds of the great beast's fur. With a grunt of effort, Elowyn rolled aside as the bear charged past, then she spun to her feet and crouched low to the ground, waiting for the creature's next move.

With a rumbling snarl, the bear slowed to a stop and turned back to face her again, then shifted its full weight back on its tree trunk sized hind legs to stretch to its full height. Teeth flashing, the monstrous guardian let out an earsplitting roar.

"I…" Elowyn swallowed hard, her hand clenched uncertainly on the hilt of her sword, "I don't suppose you just need a hug, hmm?"

The beast dropped to all fours, its dagger length claws tearing furrows in the grass, then charged her again. She prided herself on her speed, but Elowyn knew the second she moved that she was not fast enough this time. One massive paw slapped full force against her knee as she lunged aside, and she cried out as the joint gave a sickening _pop_. Nausea swept over her as she slammed into the grass and rolled away, her leg screaming in pain.

Grinding her teeth, she shoved the pain to the back of her mind and managed to scramble upright, her full weight resting on her uninjured leg. Her sword whipped from its sheath as instinct and training took over, but the sight of the drawn weapon seemed to only enrage the animal further.

It churned toward her, batting the sword aside like an insect, then swiped at her chest. The amber breastplate cracked and splintered as the claws squealed across the hard surface, and even as Elowyn tried to throw herself backward, a third blow slammed into the side of her head. Light exploded behind her eyes, and momentarily blinded and deafened, she lay sprawled and gasping on the grass, blood pouring from her temple.

The guardian's weight settled over her, pinning her to the ground, and she felt hot breath against her throat. Had she not been certain she was about to die, she might have laughed at the irony of having _her_ throat ripped out for a change. Just as she had given up, she realized that Dawnfang was still in her hand, and on instinct she flipped the blade up, the point pressed hard into the bear's furry underbelly near its heart.

Teeth closed around her throat, clamping hard enough to bruise and nearly cut off her airflow, but the great beast hesitated. She pushed against the sword harder, then winced as the bear's jaw tightened. Never surrender – she had been taught that since she was barely old enough to string a sentence together. Obviously the guardian bear had been taught the same lesson. Dark spots swam behind the woman's eyes, and she knew she had to act before it was too late.


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 24**

He watched her from the shadows along the edge of the glade. He could not believe she had let herself be mauled by a _bear_. She had changed much over the years, but the woman he remembered would never have let herself be bested by some woodland beast. Never mind that this particular bear looked as though it had been painted with ribbons of gold and silver and stood twice the height of any bear he had ever seen before. That would not have stopped the Elowyn Demark he once knew. But perhaps he had not known her as well as he thought.

The watcher renewed his Chameleon spell and crept closer as the bear pinned her to the ground. He saw the sudden flash of her blade and smiled to himself. Perhaps she had not changed much after all. But then, with the beast's mouth wrapped around her throat…she just _gave up_.

She threw the sword aside and went limp, accepting the fate the beast had in store for her. What in Sithis' name was _wrong_ with her? Many things she had been in his eyes over the years, many of them unflattering, but never a coward, never one to _surrender_. He was halfway tempted to slay the beast himself and show her the proper way to conduct herself, but it was not his place and he knew it. Grinding his teeth, he forced himself to do what he had been doing for several days, what he had been _ordered_ to do. He watched.

The bear remained poised over the woman for several long seconds, all but crushing her with its massive body. Only the quick, shallow rise and fall of Elowyn's shattered breastplate proved that she was still alive. Then, the beast simply released her. For a moment, it gazed down at her face and Elowyn stared dazedly back, then with a sigh to itself the bear lumbered off into the forest.

The watcher could not decide if he was more surprised that Elowyn's odd "tactic" seemed to have saved her life, or more disgusted by the guardian's refusal to tear his helpless victim's head from her shoulders. What had the world come to, really, when two born and bred killers would simply surrender to one another? It was disgusting.

The Redguard lay prone and bleeding in the grass for a few moments, her eyes fixed on the sky overhead. She laughed under her breath, the crazy fool, and began to loosen the buckles on her ruined breastplate, presumably to ease the pressure on her chest. A groan tore out of her as she struggled to sit up, but she was as stubborn as ever, and using her sword as a crutch, she staggered to her feet.

After a wobbly moment, she dragged herself toward the strange, stone doorway cut into the hillside that had rolled open upon the bear's departure. A few times, the watcher expected her to collapse or even faint, especially in light of the river of blood painting the side of her face, but she managed to make her way inside.

He grew impatient within seconds of losing sight of her, but he knew better than to try to follow her. He was not sure just how many minutes ticked by as he slunk back farther into the dwindling shadows to renew his spell again, but it surely felt like an eternity.

She emerged again, her skin sickly and pale from blood loss and pain, just as the priestess from the Shrine of Kynareth stepped through the brush, a large, black mare at her heels. The watcher ground his teeth at the sight of the horse. The traitorous _wretch_.

"Easy, my Lady." The Imperial reached for Elowyn's arm, but the Redguard stumbled and let out a trembling gasp as her knee jarred against the ground. "I will heal what I can, but it may not be enough and you have lost much blood. You need rest."

"No…" Elowyn shook her head, "I'll rest at home."

The watcher could not hear much else, but he did not need to, and there was no way he was going to let himself be caught by the priestess. Cautiously, he slipped away to a greater distance and watched as the Imperial helped the damaged woman up onto Shadowmere's back. To his great surprise, the priestess then mounted as well, just behind the saddle to keep Elowyn from slipping off the tall horse.

He watched the odd trio start off slowly south, toward the only place his prey might have called home in this land. For the last six days he had observed her, watching her frolic with those insipid knights. She was the plaything of the Nine once more, just as she had sworn to him she would never be again. What a pity. Oddly enough, it made doing his job all the more difficult.

The watcher broke into a silent sprint and traveled parallel through the woods, following the three females on their slow journey south toward the Priory of the Nine. There he would complete his given duty as soon as Elowyn was foolish enough to be caught alone.


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 25**

Thedret raised the bow, pulled the string taut, felt the arrow's fletching brush against his cheek, adjusted his aim to compensate for the wind, took a deep breath…and cursed Elowyn for being such a selfish, impetuous _twit_. How _dare_ she leave alone! The arrow flew wide and barely caught the edge of the target.

"Um…" Brellin stole a sidelong glance at him, "something on your mind?" The Elf slapped an arrow into his bow, effortlessly pulled the string back and let loose the arrow into the near center of the target.

The Redguard notched another arrow. "What makes you say that?"

"You just seem less yourself since you found that note," the Bosmer observed.

"I'm fine." She had the nerve to leave a _note_, mocking him, mocking all of them. He drew the bowstring back hard and fast, and the arrow flew wildly past the target and buried itself in the grass.

The little Elf cleared his throat and took another shot, this time landing it even closer to the bulls-eye. "What did it say?" he asked innocently.

Thedret ground his jaw for a long moment, then snatched a crumpled piece of parchment from the pouch on his belt and thrust it at the other man. Tucking his bow under one arm, Brellin opened the note and blinked down at the simple message written in a sprawling hand. "'Gone fishing'?"

Thedret could not completely stifle a growl as he lined up another shot. "She makes light of our Order, makes us look like _fools_!" The arrow flew high and _thunked_ into one of the posts of the horse corral, startling the poor animals within.

"I think that's enough practice for today," Brellin said gently as he handed the parchment back.

With a frustrated sigh, Thedret all but threw his bow back on the stand and stalked off toward the front of the Priory. Dealing with his hangover, which he should never have gotten in the first place, was bad enough without having to wake up to a missing vampire and that blasted _note_. He had spent all day trying to vent his frustration on every training dummy in the basement until Sergius had kicked him out. Now, with the sun dipping toward the horizon, his anger was mixing with an undesired sense of concern. Where was she? Was she coming back at all? What were they supposed to do if she did not return?

Just when he was starting to like her, too. Of course, the bizarre and unbelievable story she had detailed the night before made him all the more certain that she was completely insane, but her concern and caring for the other knights was obvious. They all looked up to her, admired her, and respected her even if they all did act like ridiculous children half the time. He had started to trust that perhaps she was the chosen of the gods, not just sent to stop Umaril, but delivered to revive a much-needed Order, a force to preserve good.

Then she just up and left. Rubbing his temples, Thedret started toward the small chapel to pray for peace of mind when Geimund let out a shout from the stables. "Looks like she's back," he hollered with a nod toward the north.

Thedret squinted and could just make out a dark shape in the distance that was probably a horse and rider. Preparing his best angry tirade, he set out to meet the woman, but he frowned in confusion when it became clear that something was off about what he was seeing. Someone dismounted the horse, but Thedret could see the brilliant gleam of Elowyn's armor and knew she was still atop the mare, though she was slumped forward and the other person appeared to be reaching up to support her.

"Something's wrong," he shouted back to the Nord, then set out at a lope toward the newcomers. She was hurt, he knew it long before he reached them, but his stomach twisted when he saw the amount of blood covering half of Elowyn's face, caked in her hair and coating the side of her armor.

He barely spared a glance at the woman leading Shadowmere and instead reached to ease the wounded woman off of the horse. Her tattered breastplate was half hanging off and splattered with her own blood. She snapped out of her dazed stupor with a weak hiss when her feet touched the ground.

"Oh, hello handsome," she mumbled with a wavering grin as she clung to Thedret. "I think I might vomit on you. Just so you know."

Her eyes rolled back in her head, leaving Thedret to support her full weight. "What in the name of the Nine happened to her?" he demanded of the older Imperial woman standing passively nearby.

"She was tested," the woman answered simply as she stroked Shadowmere's mane. "She passed the test. Kynareth is most pleased."

Thedret had never wanted to curse any of the Nine until that moment, but he bit his tongue and gratefully shifted Elowyn's dead weight to Geimund when the Nord trotted up. "I must insist upon a more detailed answer," he growled. "Who are you?"

"Avita, priestess of Kynareth. Come, take the hero inside that I may clean her up while I explain. She needs rest and possibly more healing. She is a stubborn woman, as you no doubt know."

Thedret frowned at the gray haired woman, unwilling to admit out loud that he was torn. He did not know the first thing about this stranger, and for all he knew she might have been the one responsible for Elowyn's injuries in the first place. And the fact that Shadowmere seemed fond of the Imperial made him doubly suspicious. Still, if this woman could give him some insight into what had happened to the vampire, he needed to take the risk.

With a quick nod of assent, he and Geimund hurried back toward the Priory with the groaning woman supported between them. The calm Imperial followed behind and said nothing until the two men had delivered Elowyn safely to her own bed.

With a kind smile, Avita looked to Geimund and the other concerned knights who had gathered in the doorway, murmuring questions to each other. "Would you please bring up a tub and heat some water for a bath for her? She's going to want it, I'm sure. And a soft cloth and fresh linens for her bed would be nice as well."

Thedret nodded at their questioning looks, and he was grateful that they scattered to do as she instructed. He stood awkwardly as the Imperial knelt beside Elowyn's prone figure and began to ease off her armor piece by piece.

"She arrived at the Shrine of Kynareth this morning," Avita began without preamble. "She sought the Boots of the Crusader, as I'm sure you know. Here, give me a hand with this."

Thedret obediently lifted away the crushed breastplate and set it aside. He watched a concerned frown flit across the Imperial's face as she gently fingered Elowyn's right side where the worst of the damage had been done. "As I thought. Her collarbone and ribs are broken. Stubborn woman refused to let me heal her fully before coming back here."

"What did this to her?" Thedret demanded, but he bent to help remove the unconscious woman's boots and greaves when the healer motioned for his help.

"The Guardian of the Grove. A great spirit bear who has protected the boots for many years. Kynareth felt a test was necessary, and your hero passed her test. She showed fear and respect for nature by refusing to slay the beast, even when her life was in mortal danger. You should be proud of her."

Thedret bit his tongue again, afraid of what sharp retort might slip out. Somehow he could not imagine how allowing a bear to maul her was helpful to their ultimate goals, but he told himself it was not his place to question the gods. The thought did little to comfort him.

Elowyn gasped when he tugged off one of her greaves. "The guardian pulled apart the joint of her knee," the Imperial explained. "Though I set it right, there is still swelling and discomfort. Thankfully I was able to stop the bleeding and heal the damage to her head as we rode, but I'll need to mend these bones before we try get her up and about."

Thedret stood back and averted his eyes as the healer pushed up Elowyn's tunic to lay her hands over her bare skin. Fighting back his discomfort, he ventured, "Did she at least obtain the boots? After all this, I would certainly hope so."

"Aye. They are in her pack."

A tiny twinge of relief broke through his irritation and concern. They were one step closer to having all the artifacts, one step closer to stopping the return of Umaril. Though he felt awkward standing around useless, Thedret stayed where he was until the healing was complete and the other knights had finished toting up the tub and heated water.

The healer straightened up and stepped away when Elowyn groaned and rolled to her side. "How are you feeling?" Thedret asked.

"Like I was mauled by a bear," the woman rasped out. "Oh wait. I was. So…normal, under the circumstances."

Thedret sighed and some of his frustration leaked out. "Why did you go _alone_? What were you thinking?"

Elowyn turned sad, pained eyes on him and he immediately felt guilty for his harsh tone, but Avita waved him from the room. "Shoo, scoot," she scolded. "Now's not the time for that. Let her rest. Here." The Imperial stooped over Elowyn's pack and pulled out the Boots of the Crusader. "Put them somewhere safe."

Thedret frowned one last time at Elowyn, but the door quickly closed in his face, leaving him with nothing to do but carry the boots down to the tomb to wait with the other artifacts. He silently prayed that they would not have to wait much longer.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N:** This chapter ties up one particular loose end from Elowyn's past. I'm sorry if it's confusing because of the break in cannon, but hopefully the chapter will be self explanatory.

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 26**

"I'm fine." Elowyn refused to look at the irritated man behind her as she finished tightening Shadowmere's saddle. "I'll be back in an hour or two. Stop acting like my nanny or I'll make you wear a dress. Or I'll just start calling you 'Haskill'. And make you wear a dress."

She could hear Thedret's teeth grinding together as she swung into the saddle. "You shouldn't be out by yourself so soon. Even your new healer friend said as much."

"I _have_ to go." Elowyn stared down at him, willing him to understand that this was a need, not a want. She knew the unspoken sentiment behind his words - he wondered if she would run off again without him, without someone to watch over her every move. If she did not feed before sunrise, however, bad things would happen. Such as too many questions being asked when her flesh began boiling beneath the sun. "I'll be back as quickly as possible."

Normally she would have waited until he responded and probably tried to ease his worries more or simply teased him until he got fed up, but she felt uncomfortable under his accusing stare. With a click of her tongue, she urged Shadowmere into a canter and headed off into the woods.

Either she was lucky or the gods really were looking out for her because she stumbled across a pair of thieves making camp not far from the Priory. She slashed the throat of the first, then lunged for the second, her ears ringing with his half-formed scream before she cut it short. She drained his body completely, only dropping his dead weight after his heart fluttered and stopped. Light headed, she sat down on a rock as the blood thundered through her.

It had been a long time since she had been injured so badly, and she had forgotten what a toll it took on her body. Loosing so much blood, for a vampire, was painful beyond the physical torment of the wounds. Even after gorging herself, she still felt dissatisfied and hollow, and she wished she had not killed the first thief so quickly.

A flicker of movement on the edge of her vision had her on her feet in the blink of an eye, her hand on her sword hilt. Before she could make a move toward the person, a low voice spoke from the shadows, a _familiar_ voice that made her breath hitch in her throat.

"Stay your blade, traitor." The man's spells slid away, his black robes swishing softly as he approached.

"Lucien?" Though the sun had yet to breach the horizon, there was enough light to make out the angular features of the Imperial's face. She hid her nervousness under a snide smirk. "I'm impressed. You're still alive. No cushy retirement for a old veteran assassin, hmm?"

"Yes, I live." He pushed back his hood and she could see the faint traces of gray hairs near his temples. "And thrive, actually. Thanks to you."

She blinked at that and tightened her grip on Duskfang as the assassin paced in front of her. "Thanks to me? And here I thought you'd be all put out when I left. You mean to say I stayed up late all those nights worrying for nothing?"

"Oh, I was 'put out'," he growled, his eyes flashing dangerously. She saw the glint of metal in his hand, but he made no move to use the blade. "More than that. You betrayed me, my own _Silencer_!"

"Must you always take everything so personally, hmm?"

"You abandoned _Sithis_," he spat in cold fury. "I pleaded with the Night Mother to let _me_ be the one to slay you if you were ever found. She gave me no answer, and I understand why now, but in my heart you will ever be a traitor."

"Ah. Of course. Then it makes perfect sense that you would thank me."

"If you had not vanished, the Night Mother believes I would have been branded a traitor myself and slain for false reasons." His expression hardened and he stepped close to her, close enough for her to catch the flecks of gold in his brown eyes as the sun crested the hills. "But do not mistake my thanks for forgiveness. That you shall _never_ receive."

Unable to help herself, Elowyn laughed lightly. "Then we are even. I will _never _forget. Besides, I never knew you were capable of forgiveness in the first place."

Lucien tilted his head thoughtfully. "No. I'm probably not."

"I think you're just upset that Shadowmere loves me more than you."

"Keep the wretched beast." Lucien's jaw tightened. "I should have known you had returned when she disappeared again, but I was not certain until the Night Mother confirmed it."

"Then why are you here, hmm? If you intend to kill me, then you've changed, Lucien. Normally you do not play with your targets."

The man let out a low, menacing laugh. "You are a target, Elowyn, but not the kind you think. The Night Mother has sent me here with a message."

"A message? So," the woman smirked, "what are you now? The Errand Boy of the Dark Brotherhood, hmm? Nice promotion, then?"

"I am the _Listener_, you blood-sucking traitor," the assassin snarled. "The words the Night Mother spoke to me are too important to trust to any other."

"Well, let's hear it then. I'm a busy vampire, you know."

"Yes, this I can see. Busy being the weakling pawn of the Nine Divines _again_," Lucien sneered, but he retried a scroll from his belt and offered it to the woman.

It was all she could do to swallow an angry reply. He was right, of course, but that did not mean she wanted to hear him say it. She frowned at the words of the Night Mother scribed in Lucien's formal, block script on the parchment.

_My Dear Child,_

_It has been long since we sensed your presence in this realm, and we greet you warmly. Perhaps you were expecting anger or hostility, but despite Lucien's probable attitude, Sithis and I bear you no ill will. In fact, in many ways, you have our gratitude._

_It became clear after your disappearance that there was still a traitor amongst the Brotherhood. Lucien, and ultimately myself, was this fool's target, and had you done as ordered, my current Listener would have died many years ago. He has proven to be my most trusted of followers, having dedicated himself to the rebuilding of our glory after the traitor was exposed, and for that I thank you._

_Your ties to the Dark Brotherhood are severed. Consider yourself honored for such an unprecedented move on our part. Never will your life be threatened by any assassin under our banner. I understand why you left though I cannot agree with your choice, but should you ever wish to rejoin our family, we will welcome you with open arms._

_Your Loving Mother_

Elowyn swallowed hard and reread the letter. When her eyes snapped up, Lucien had backed away a few paces as if he knew what was coming.

He should have just run.

With a snarl, she lunged forward and slapped the Imperial savagely across the face, unconcerned about the dagger in his hand. "You bastard!" she hissed, her breathing ragged as she stared into Lucien's stony gaze. "I told you! I _told_ you it was not them! I told you the Cheydinhal family was not home to any traitors! But would you listen?!"

"I gave you the orders as I was ordered to," he growled slowly without bothering to acknowledge the reddening handprint on his face. "I followed my orders, you followed yours."

"I should have made you do your own dirty work," she snarled. "I should have just left, before I…"

"But you didn't." The Imperial shook his head, his expression hard and merciless. "You killed them, as you were ordered to. It is over and done with. Put it behind you. May we never meet again, Elowyn Demark."

She blinked and Lucien was gone, his life energy only a faint trail through the woods as he jogged away until he vanished into the early morning light.


	27. Chapter 27

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 27**

Thedret turned away from the notes he had been reading as Elowyn stomped through the front door, startled to see that her face was blotchy and red as if she had been…crying? "What happened?" he demanded as he tried to fall into step beside her.

She pushed him aside on the stairs and went straight to her room, muttering over her shoulder, "If you want to come with me to Leyawiin, I'm leaving in a quarter hour. Bring the boots with you."

The door slammed in his face, leaving him with more questions hanging on his lips. He stood there, listening to the faint sounds of her rustling through her belongings and he was about to do as she had suggested when the room went suddenly quiet. He leaned closer and his eyes widened at the obvious sound of muffled sobbing.

It never even dawned on him that she might feel the same spectrum of emotions as any other person. Her vampirism – and blatant insanity – blinded him to the fact that she was a woman, a person, and he felt strangely ashamed to think of how he had been so quick to categorize her as…something else. Despite his continued worries about her qualifications as a hero, he wanted to know what had her so upset, but he had no idea what she would do if he knocked on the door.

Something on the other side of the door crashed so loudly that Thedret jumped and shoved the door open before he could stop himself. Elowyn stood beside her bed in a loose tunic that came to mid-thigh, her legs and feet bare. Tears wet her cheeks, and she turned from glaring her bloodshot eyes at the crushed breastplate across the room to Thedret's startled face, then back to the breastplate again.

"It was already broken," she rasped like a pouting child caught throwing a tantrum. "Not like I could make it worse."

"What happened?" Thedret's voice was quiet, and he averted his eyes, not wanting to stare at her wearing so little. Rationally he knew that comrades at arms were bound to see each other in all states of undress, but had never felt entirely comfortable with that idea when it came to the opposite gender.

The room was silent for a long pause, then Elowyn let out a shuddering sigh and sank down to sit on her bed. "Life."

She fixed an empty stare on the floor, and Thedret only hesitated for a moment before moving to sit at an appropriate distance beside her on the bed. The fact that she was not babbling incessantly about some random topic was more worrying than her tears themselves. She looked so broken, like the weight of the world had crushed her, and he could not imagine a way to help ease the burden. She was still such a stranger to him, and he realized a big part of that was his doing.

"Sergius can repair your armor," he offered helplessly.

Elowyn snorted, then let out a wet laugh, wiping at the tears on her face. "Men always have to try to fix everything, don't they?"

Uncertain how to take that, Thedret stiffened and offered, "I can go get Avita if that would be…"

"No." She rested her hand lightly on his forearm as if to prevent him from leaving, though she did not look at him. "It's kind of sweet. You can't fix what's actually wrong, so you latch onto something that can be fixed. I wish I could think that way. That would make my life too easy, though, hmm?"

Thedret's skin crawled under the vampire's touch, and he felt all the more uncomfortable because the touch was not entirely unwelcome. She was an attractive woman, though, so he reasoned that it was not completely shocking that he, as a man, might enjoy being close to her.

He blinked. Where had _that_ thought come from?

"Perhaps you're being too hard on yourself," he offered to cover up his embarrassing, rambling thoughts.

"Not hard enough," she replied quietly, shaking her head. "Not nearly hard enough."

Frowning, he covered her hand with his own, both glad and oddly disappointed that he was wearing gloves and could not feel the coldness of her skin. "Now I know for certain," he said firmly when she finally glanced over at him. "You are definitely being too hard on yourself."

"You wouldn't say that if you knew me better," she insisted. "Even knowing what you now know should be enough to know that I'm not."

"Perhaps. But the gods believe in you."

"No," she snorted in disgust, "the god are _using_ me. Using us, all of us. That's the only thing they're good for."

Thedret frowned. "Yet you still do their will."

Scowling, Elowyn pulled her hand away from him and massaged her forehead with her fingertips. "In this, yes," she admitted bitterly. "Even though I swore I never would again, here I am. I'm duplicitous. Or maybe I just like being tormented. Tormenting myself."

"Why _are_ you here?" Thedret pressed. "If you loathe the gods so much, why go along with this? There must be a reason."

"Isn't that obvious? Because of you." She made a face as she said the words, and if Thedret had ever seen her look uncomfortable, it was right then. And he could not blame her – the statement made him feel damned awkward. "I-I don't mean _you_ specifically, I mean people like you. Those who follow. Those who believe the Nine will protect them. Because no matter what you believe, the Nine aren't going to protect you. If I had not come, if no other hero had stepped into this role, do you truly believe your precious Divines would face Umaril themselves? No chance."

"You can't know that," Thedret denied.

Elowyn opened her mouth to argue, but all that came out was a weary sigh. "We should get moving," she said as she abruptly stood up. She retrieved her ruined breastplate and studied it with something like sadness. "Used to be so pretty…guess I'll have to find something else to wear."

Thedret stood and gently extracted the armor from her grasp. "I'll take it to Sergius. Give him a few hours and I bet it'll be as good as new. We can wait until then." He frowned and studied the shattered material in his hands. "Of course, I've never seen anything like this before…"

"Hmm, I have some extra. It's amber, a substance found in the Asylums." She bent to dig through her disastrously messy pack, and Thedret averted his eyes as a blush burned up his neck at the sudden sight of a lot more of her bare thighs.

She turned back around with a few large pieces of amber in her hands. "I doubt he'll know how to work this stuff, but perhaps he can repair the armor more easily with it, hmm?" She took a step toward the door, then stopped and glanced down at herself. "I should put some pants on."

Thedret cleared his throat and backed toward the door. "Yes. Yes you should."

She smirked and gave him a look that made him want to flee the room. "You're blushing, Sir Thedret. I wonder what unknightly thoughts are bouncing around in that head of yours." When he scowled and turned away, she called softly. "Wait. Thank you."

He paused but did not turn back, mostly because he was still blushing. "You're welcome, my Lady."


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N:** I love crazy people. :3 Thanks for reviews!

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 28**

"You know, I feel pretty stupid now for jumping into that void so many times when we were last here," Elowyn mused. She decided the Mace of the Zenithar looked pretty good hanging from Thedret's belt. At least he could make some use of it, whereas she would be more likely to bludgeon herself in the back of the head with the unwieldy blunt weapon. "Considering how obvious the solution was."

Thedret urged his bay gelding to walk even with Shadowmere. "Not all that obvious." Elowyn gave him a dry stare and he shrugged. "Okay, maybe a little obvious. Still, at least you didn't need to get half eaten by a bear this time. Let's hope the gauntlets prove to be just as easy to recover."

Elowyn chuckled. "I swear, that sense of humor of yours is just _dying_ to escape."

The man gave a casual shrug, his voice deadpan when he replied. "Not all of us have had the pleasure of spending ten years in the Madhouse to refine our sense of humors as you have."

She gave him a curious sidelong glance and scoffed. "Don't tell me you actually believed my story. I'd be delighted and crushed in equal measure if you did."

"I…don't know," he answered with a little frown. "It would explain a lot, but at the same time it was too fantastical to simply accept at face value. Of course, so many tales of your life are just as extraordinary…"

"Hah, true. I don't even believe them myself. Well, but I'm glad you don't really believe me, though." She flashed him a wicked grin and turned her mare off of the road and into the sparse underbrush. "If you'd actually believed me, it would make our camping experience much less interesting."

"Camping?" Thedret's horse balked for a moment before following behind them through a winding maze of trees and tall grasses. "You refused to stay overnight in Leyawiin, but you want us to camp now, when we are only a few moments from the gate?"

"Mm-hmm. It _is_ getting dark, and we wouldn't want to get ambushed on the roads at night, now would we?"

"Well, of course not, but," she could hear the frustration creeping into his voice and she smiled to herself, "why not stay at an inn?"

"No point wasting good coin on a lumpy, creaky old bed with dirty linens when there's a perfectly serviceable place to pitch a tent, hmm?"

"Where exactly is this 'perfectly serviceable place', Elowyn?"

She waved her hand carelessly. "Oh, not far now."

He let out an irritated sigh, and she could all but hear him thinking of the places that could be nearby that she might use as a campsite. "The only thing in this area is a Wayshrine of Stendarr. And…"

She twisted in her saddle to grin at his bleak expression. "Oh, go on. Say it! You know you want to. I'm _dying_ to hear you say it."

"A daedric shrine to Sheogorath," he ground out. "You must be joking."

"Of course not. I never joke. I'm a _knight_ after all, a knight in service of the Nine Divines at that, and we can't have knights with wit, now can we?"

Thedret stifled a groan. "The worshipers of Sheogorath are wild, out of control, and _violent_."

"Sometimes," she nodded, "_my_ followers can be unpredictable. But don't worry. I'll protect you."

This time the groan escaped, but she was a bit disappointed that he held his tongue and did not argue as she led him through the forest toward the shrine. This time it was not laughter that she heard first, but raised, bickering voices. She and Thedret dismounted to approach the shrine on foot, and she had to grin as she listened to the dispute.

"And what would a _Nord_ know about the sun anyway?" That was Ferul, and he sounded more agitated than usual. "You spend your lives rooting in the snow like fat little hairy pigs! It's no wonder you are so insipid! Your brains have frozen over! It is so tempting to break open your skull and prove myself right…"

"I may be insipid," Ortis, that was definitely Ortis, "but I'm not stupid, you stupid, dirty Elf! You 'spect me to believe that the sun is huge, bigger than the _world_? Your mammy must have drop you on your head when you was born! And then kicked ya' for good measure!"

"You cannot devour the sun in one bite, you buffoon! And leave Mother out of this! She was a saint, I tell you! And she'd have boiled your eyeballs in their sockets for your disrespect! I'm tempted to do it for her!"

"Bah, I'll show you. One of these days, I'm gonna eat the sun right in front of your face. Then I'll lick all the stars from the sky, too. What do ya have to say to that, huh?"

Thedret caught her arm just before they cleared the tree line, and she drank in the panicky concern in his eyes and tried very hard not to laugh at him. "Elowyn, this is dangerous. If you're trying to prove something to me…"

At that she did laugh and stepped into the clearing, the gentle light from the small campfire at the base of the statue warm and welcoming. The moment she appeared, someone let out a desperate sob and sprinted for her.

"Make them stop," the same High Elf woman who had been there during Elowyn's last visit, and who was still as naked as a newborn babe, clung to the front of the Redguard's armor. Enormous, unfocused eyes lined with tears stared up at her. "Please, my Lord, make them stop. Do not let them destroy the light!"

"Shh, it's alright. Don't worry," she soothed with a gentle smile that turned dark as her eyes moved to fixate on the smirking Nord sprawled beside the fire. "I thought you were on a strict diet, my friend. Wouldn't the sun ruin your delicate figure?"

"Bah," Ortis snorted, then rolled to his back to glare up at the darkening sky. "A man can't try to make a snack out of a sweet little succulent babe without gettin' all manner of trouble these days. Threatenin' to call the guards on me…selfish farmers. What do they need all them brats for anyway? Can't spare just _one_? Bah."

"My beautiful Madgod." Ferul breezed over to her, his customary robe left unbuttoned this time and revealing that all he wore underneath was short thews. The Dark Elf gave the trembling Altmer a disdainful sneer and shooed the woman away before he delicately lifted Elowyn's hand to press a kiss against the gloved back.

"'Tis my supreme pleasure to welcome you back, my Lord, even if your absence was far too long for my liking." His charming smile vanished when Thedret emerged beside her with a dark frown on his face, but the Elf perked up after a contemplative pause. "Ah, you have brought a sacrifice! There is nothing more satisfying than bringing a willing human to slaughter in worship of yourself, aye? Besides, it has been far too long since we painted your statue red."

Elowyn had to grin at the flat expression on Thedret's face, but she shook her head and extracted her hand from Ferul's grasp. "No slaughtering today, I'm afraid."

"A pity." The Dunmer studied Thedret through narrowed eyes, tilting his head back and forth. "A living sacrifice perhaps? A meatshield? A way to distract the enemy with the promise of fresh blood whilst you slip away?"

Amused by the notion, and the expression on her companion's face, Elowyn shrugged thoughtfully. "In a way."

Thedret shot her a sharp glance and warned, "Elowyn…"

"Such informality!" Ferul gasped. "Perhaps _he _is what has kept you from visiting, aye? Hmm, yes, perhaps…"

Elowyn moved to a clear space on the far side of the fire where she dumped her pack and began the search for her tent and bedroll. "Sir Thedret is a friend and companion, Ferul, and I expect you to attend his needs with the same devotion you attend to mine."

Her coy tone was not lost on Thedret, who glared daggers at her even as she grinned from ear to ear. He was all too easy to rile, and things had not even gotten strange yet.

"Not _all_, I should hope," Ferul purred, but his eyes were dangerous as he stared at the other man with a calculating scowl. Suddenly he stepped very close to Thedret, almost near enough for their noses to touch, but the Redguard did nothing but stare coolly down at the smaller man. "Her thighs taste like skooma and honey, you know."

Thedret blinked, his cool composure wavering, and blurted out, "What?" as Elowyn burst out laughing.

"Go easy on him, Ferul," the woman admonished even as her shoulders shook with repressed chuckles. She unclasped her armor piece by piece and tried to conceal her amusement at the entire scene.

"Of course, Madgod," the Elf answered without moving from his nose-to-nose position in front of the knight. "And she is ticklish behind her left knee, but not her right. Especially if you use your tongue. But only if she is not expecting it. Aye, 'tis true. Did you know that?"

Choking on her laughter, Elowyn called, "Thedret bring your gear over here and set up your tent. No pissing contests, Ferul. Not tonight, anyway. We've a busy day tomorrow and I need my knight undamaged."

The Dunmer stood firm for another heartbeat before he snorted and turned away from Thedret. Ferul scowled and wrung his hands while they began to set up for the night, then suddenly said, "You know, he doesn't belong here. He doesn't love you like we do. He doesn't dance naked over hot coals for you, or eat the heads off beetles in your honor, or paint your likeness in blood on the clouds for all to admire. And he smells."

Thedret snorted and started to say something, but Elowyn cut him off. "You know, I tried to tell him about the smell," she answered in all seriousness. "Lavender, right?"

"Aye," the sneering Elf replied, "and cinnamon."

She shrugged and lay her blankets flat. "He's a knight in service to the Nine Divines. It's normal."

Ferul huffed out a sigh and stomped off toward his bedroll. "Makes me sneeze."

"Sleep well, Ferul," she called after him.

"This is crazy," Thedret grumbled as he threw his pack inside his low tent.

"Really? I hadn't noticed." Elowyn grinned at him and ducked inside her tent.

"They really believe you are Sheogorath." His voice was hard, but without seeing his face, Elowyn could not be sure what he was thinking.

"I can't imagine why they would think such a thing," she mused innocently.

The man sighed, then crouched outside the flap of her tent, his voice a conspiratorial hiss. "Is it even safe to sleep here?"

"Of course. I'm their god, silly. They love me."

"I mean for _me._"

She laughed and curled up on her blankets. "If they eat you while you're sleeping, I'll make sure you get a nice, spacious tomb with lots of beautiful spirit women to keep you company."

Thedret growled in irritation, but she could see his silhouette still sitting outside her tent. After a long paused, he asked in a hushed whisper, "Do I really smell like lavender?"

Elowyn bit down on the inside of her cheek, but her giggling escaped all the same. "And cinnamon," she snickered. "I did try to tell you."

Thedret sighed again and went to his own tent, muttering to himself, "Completely insane…"


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: **Yep, the shrine deserves another chapter. ^_^ It really is my favorite place to write for.

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 29**

"Wake up, my sweet…"

Thedret's breathing quickened in his sleep, his eyes dancing behind closed lids. Hands closed gently around his shins through his blankets, then slipped up over his knees, caressed his thighs, danced across his narrow hips. His heart hammed behind his ribs when the feather-light touch tickled under his tunic, tenderly brushing over his abdomen before darting away again.

Her weight settled over his sleeping form, her lean, supple body gliding over his blankets, teasing him. He could feel the warmth of her, the pressure of every curve pinning him down. A small part of him whispered that this was wrong, but his body seemed to disagree, and it spoke in a much louder voice. Her breath came hot against his ear and he gasped, bringing a low, purring chuckle from deep in her throat. Something tickled along his jaw line, across his cheek, then her lips brushed his, a faint kiss that was warm and soft and…furry?

Thedret jolted awake, his hand flying for the knife he kept within reach anytime he camped in a new place. He froze, uncertain, when the weight over him shifted and a giggle came from the dim, early morning air above his face. He blinked away the fuzziness of sleep and stared in disbelief at the female Khajiit straddling his hips.

"Has K'razha startled the handsome one?" she purred softly, her golden eyes almost glowing in the pale light. "There is no need to fear, my sweet. She is not hunting _that_ kind of prey…"

"Who are you? Get off of me!" The Redguard twisted and tried to push himself upright, but that only succeeded in wedging himself more firmly between her strong thighs. She appeared to be naked, and though this meant she was probably unarmed, it only served to double Thedret's panic. He could not figure out how to get her off of him without actually touching her.

The Khajiit giggled again and trailed her curved nails down his chest, tugging lightly on the laces of his tunic. He cursed himself for not sleeping in his armor. "You cannot lie to her, my sweet," she murmured. "K'razha _feels_ your desire."

And considering the content of his dreams, it was no wonder. "Get _out_ of my tent," Thedret warned to try to cover his embarrassment.

K'razha straightened up a little to look him in the eyes, then her ears drooped dejectedly. "You do not really wish her to leave, do you? She has only just arrived. And your body says otherwise, my sweet."

"I don't even know you!" He bit his tongue to keep from adding that he was no where near insane enough to bed someone who frequented Sheogorath's Shrine.

"Ah, but you could," she purred. "You are not like the others here. K'razha can smell that you are different, yes she can." Her ears dropped back flat against her skull and her teeth flashed as she snarled, "Not like those who would hurt poor K'razha! Hunt her, eat her whiskers! She will have her revenge, oh yes, my sweet, and soon."

"Please," Thedret ordered levelly, "get off of me and leave my tent." The Khajiit did not appear to be listening, but just sat atop him, staring through him, apparently still lost in her angry thoughts. He wracked his brain for a moment, then said hastily, "Wouldn't your time be better spent planning your revenge anyway? Why waste your time on anything else?"

K'razha's ears snapped forward, her eyes suddenly wide with surprise. "Yes, of course she should!" The woman started to scramble off of him, then paused, leaned close to his face and licked his cheek. "K'razha will remember your taste, my sweet."

In a blink, she was gone out the flap of his tent, her tail slapping him in the face before he was left to stare blankly at the empty air. After a moment he groaned and rubbed at his eyes, angry with himself for his runaway dreams and for leaving himself so exposed in such a dangerous place. He wondered idly if just being near this shrine made people crazier.

He allowed himself a moment to…compose himself, then stuck his head out of the tent flap. The sun was moments away from cresting the horizon and the smoldering fire was surrounded by snoring, half-naked worshipers still deep in slumber. Elowyn's tent was gone, and Thedret suffered a very sharp jolt of panic before he realized her bulky pack rested just a few feet away.

"Did you think she'd abandoned you to us?" Thedret startled and scowled at the unpleasant Dunmer who was staring at him from his bedroll at the base of the statue. "No such luck. She even warned me to leave you alone. I wonder what the Madgod will do if I do not."

The Redguard ignored the Elf and instead climbed out of his tent and began to put his armor back on. It was not as easy as usual with an overly aggressive Dark Elf staring holes in his back.

"Why would she think you need protecting anyway, hmm?" The Dunmer was approaching him, but Thedret refused to be drawn in and simply feigned disinterest. "Are you so much of a frail weakling? Is she your nanny?"

Thedret bent as if to retrieve another piece of his armor, but instead grasped the hilt of the Mace of Zenithar. Still, he hesitated to make the first move out of concern for Elowyn's reaction if he did harm any of Sheogorath's followers. Fortunately, he was not given the chance to find out.

"Ferul, what did I tell you?" Elowyn strode into the clearing wearing the most ominous expression Thedret had ever seen on her. He had to admit to himself that he rather enjoyed the look of shock on the disagreeable Elf's face.

"M-M-Madgod!" The Elf's face was frozen in a wide, fake smile. "I did not think you would return so quickly."

"Give me the knife," Elowyn commanded. Thedret suppressed a chill as the Dunmer hesitantly held out a jagged, curved blade to the woman. It had been concealed in the folds of his robe, and Thedret decided not to think too hard about what he had planned for such a weapon.

Elowyn shook her head at the Dunmer. "I expected more from you, really."

"Ah, my Lord," Ferul ducked his head and offered a contrite, appeasing smile, "have pity on this humble madman."

Elowyn was murmuring under her breath and paying him no mind, and when the air shimmered and shifted in front of her, both Thedret and the Elf took a startled step backward. The creature she summoned was _enormous_, a towering behemoth of tattered flesh and barely-contained magic. It grunted and glared around the clearing for a moment, then fixed its eyes on Elowyn and smiled. Or at least, Thedret supposed it was a smile. It was terrifying.

"Mama." The creature's voice was like thunder echoing in a deep cave. It extended one, huge hand and patted Elowyn atop her head. He could have crushed her skull with that hand. "Me so glad to see you again, Mama."

The vampire smiled sweetly at the monster and squeezed his forearm. "I'm sorry I can't chat long right now, Honey. Busy, busy Mama, hmm? But I have a job for you."

The beast nodded. "Me always help Mama."

"You see this Elf here?" Ferul shrunk back, his face ashen as the fleshy creature turned to stare at him when Elowyn pointed. "He's not feeling so happy today, Honey. I think what he needs is a hug."

"OooOo!" The creature beamed with pride. "Honey really good at hugs. Mama say so."

Ferul cut in shakily, "M-Madgod…w-what are you…"

"Yes, you are, dear," Elowyn continued to gaze at her summoned minion without acknowledging her Dark Elf follower. "Could you help him out? He's a bit in _denial_, Honey, so you might have to chase him down."

"My Lord, please, this is…"

Honey bobbed his head emphatically. "Honey good at chasing too, right Mama?"

"That's right." She smiled brightly. "Now go on! Before he gets away, Honey!"

"No…NO!" The Dunmer let out an entirely unmanly shriek and fled from the lumbering monster, tripping over a dazed Imperial sleeping near the fire pit.

Honey grunted and churned after the Dunmer, his massive legs shaking the ground and sending crazy, half-asleep worshipers scattering in a flurry of screams and panic. "Come back, Elfy friend! Mama say you in denial."

Elowyn turned to Thedret for the first time, her face completely neutral. "Good morning."

"I…good morning," he answered, though he was too busy watching the amusing pursuit going on around the statue of Sheogorath to give her a second glance.

"You have until Honey catches him to get packed," she chuckled. "He's pretty efficient, so hurry up, hmm?"

Laughing to himself, Thedret did as she told him to, but he said over his shoulder, "You are an evil woman, Elowyn." He had to wonder if this was the kind of thing that a knight should find amusing. And then he wondered if insanity really was contagious.

"Hah! You love it," was her playful answer before she plopped down on the ground to admire the ensuing chaos with a wide grin. "Hey! I thought we ate that Khajiit. Learn something new everyday, hmm?"


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N:** I'll probably only do one chapter a day updates until this is done from now on. Thank you all so very much for reviews. This week specifically has been really insane, with a weekend that promises to be even nuttier, so it's a pleasure to read your feedback and have a break from the real life stuff. ^_^

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 30**

Elowyn groaned and dropped her head into her hands. "You were saying something about this being easy?"

"No," Thedret replied irritably as he stared down at the sweating woman sitting on the chapel floor, "I said I _hope_ it's easy."

"Don't you know it's bad luck to say things like that!" She sighed into her hands, then turned her face to glare at the innocent looking gauntlets on the floor beside her. "I hate the Nine Divines."

The tall Altmer standing nearby gave a gasp and glanced around nervously as if he expected the gods to spring from the walls and exact divine retribution upon her for such a statement. "My Lady, you must not say such things!" he whispered.

Before she could spit out the snide retort sitting on the tip of her tongue, Thedret cut her off. "If you're quite finished making a spectacle of yourself on the floor, perhaps we can try to make some sense of this."

"Oh, so it's _my_ fault?" Elowyn shoved to her feet and glared the slim distance up at him, poking her finger into his breastplate. "_You_ are the one who gave us bad luck."

The exasperation on his face was worth the effort of trying very unsuccessfully to lift the Gauntlets of the Crusader from the chapel floor for the last ten minutes. The man turned his back to her and addressed the High Elf priest. "You mentioned someone else tried to lift them recently?"

"Ah, yes," the Elf looked sad as he answered, "Kellen. The poor man. He had as much success as you have had, but the strain took a terrible toll on him. I fear it will not be long before the curse overcomes him completely. He has been staying here at the chapel ever since."

"Who is Kellen?" Elowyn demanded as she indignantly elbowed Thedret to one side. To her surprise, he looked more amused than annoyed, which made her wonder just how much of an influence their little detour to a certain shrine might have had on him. "And what curse? Is it contagious? Should I go wash my hands or some such?"

"Uh…not that I'm aware of, my Lady," the Altmer, Areldur was his name she finally remembered, said with obvious discomfort. "Kellen is the descendant of Sir Casimir, a knight who was in service of the Nine Divines."

Elowyn straightened up at the name. "Oh, I met him! Arrogant snob, really, but nice enough if you like the type."

Areldur blinked, then forced a smile. "Surely you jest, my Lady. He has been dead for three hundred years."

"Well, that explains why I could see right through him then, hmm? And probably the attitude as well. Tell me about this curse. Unless you have something better to do."

The Altmer opened his mouth, snapped it shut, then apparently decided it was not worth arguing. "It is said that Sir Casimir was, as you so adequately put it, quite arrogant. He grew angry with a beggar and slew the poor man on the very site you now stand. Stendarr's wrath was quick – he caused the gauntlets to fall from Casimir's hands and struck him with a fell curse that left him constantly exhausted. The curse has persisted through his bloodline for many generations, and it is said that the gauntlets will remain where they now lay until one who is worthy is able to remove the curse."

Elowyn sighed. "Guess that's my cue, hmm? Where is this Kellen? May I speak with him?"

"Certainly. Follow me."

As they trailed after the Altmer toward the lower chambers of the chapel, Thedret leaned close and quietly asked, "How exactly do you plan to lift a three hundred year old curse?"

"How should I know? I'm sure it will come to me like a bolt of lightning! If not, I'm sure the gods will find a way to torture me into finding the solution."

"Inspiring," he muttered with a dry stare, "as always."

"Kellen?" They stepped inside a small, dimly lit room that reeked of medical herbs. Elowyn scrunched up her face and tried not to sneeze. "Kellen, are you awake? You have some visitors."

The Redguard man curled on the tiny bed was not what Elowyn had expected. Though he was thin and his hand trembled wildly when he lifted it to rub the sleep from his eyes, he did not have the same weakness about him that most sickly persons did. In fact, in appearance, he seemed quite capable. What sort of curse would keep an otherwise perfectly healthy man in such a helpless state?

"Visitors?" he rasped, then narrowed his eyes their direction. "Come to mock my suffering? Or perhaps to taunt me with promises of relief, only to abandon me? I should be used to it by now."

"My, but aren't you a just a bright ray of sunshine," Elowyn chirped. She knelt beside the cursed man's bed and smiled at his skeptical, almost hostile expression, even as Areldur ducked his head and hastily excused himself from the room. "Not that I blame you. It's so _fair_ of the Nine to punish your entire family line for the sins of one man, hmm? It must drive you to worship them with utmost devotion."

Kellen frowned, but there was curiosity in his sunken eyes. "I…I cannot give up hope that the Nine will remove the curse," he insisted, though his conviction wavered. "Someday they will answer my prayers…"

"Someday," Elowyn scoffed with more bitterness than she had intended. "You will die before 'someday' comes, if I know anything of the Nine."

The cursed man's eyes widened and she saw something flash across his face that made her respect him. It was determination, indignation, righteous anger and it told her that he desperately wanted to _live_. "W-who are you? Have you come here to torture me in my final days, is that it?"

"Forgive her," Thedret soothed from the foot of the bed. "Miss Demark has a habit of making dire situations seem all the more dire."

"Demark?" Kellen struggled to sit up, but collapsed into his pillow in a dry coughing fit for a moment, then fixed her face with an astonished stare. "Elowyn Demark? The…Champion of Cyrodiil? By all the gods…do you remember me?" At her confused frown, he rushed on. "My family did business with yours back in Hammerfell! We lived just down the coast from Sentinel. I was very young when your father was murdered, but my father and uncle always spoke so highly of him."

Elowyn balked, her mouth opening and closing a few times as she searched for words. "I…think I might remember," she finally managed. "It's been years."

"It was rumored that you were arrested for slaying the rest of your family line," the ill man continued gravely. "But when your fame grew, we knew those were nothing but vicious lies. You are a true symbol of the heroism of our people, my Lady."

"Kellen," she sighed, "I…thank you for your kind words. But we're here for a reason. What do you know of your curse? And more importantly, how to lift it."

"You probably know as much I do." Now that he knew who she was, Kellen was open and honest, allowing his despair to seep into his words. "Nothing I have ever tried has helped, no amount of prayers or potions or herbs. I…I want to live, but I do not dare hope at this point." He sighed despondently. "I should have stayed in my homeland and died with my family beside me."

"Enough optimism," Elowyn chided. "There must be _someone_ who knows _something_."

"Areldur." The cursed Reguard scowled. "I _know_ he knows something. He always looks so guilty around me, and he rushes off anytime I'm near."

"Alright, I'll go speak with the priest then." She glanced at Thedret, putting a question in her expression, and the man nodded slightly. "Thedret here will stay and keep you company a while, if you don't mind. Let's see what we can do about convincing Stendarr and his priests to be merciful for once."


	31. Chapter 31

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 31**

Thedret watched over Kellen, exchanging idle chat for several minutes before the cursed man slipped into fitful sleep. The knight was glad for it, as he feared he might be on the verge of doing something decidedly stupid. Like asking for details about Elowyn's past. Her father murdered, and she rumored to have been arrested for slaying her family? Had she killed her own father? The Prophet had called her kin-slayer…

Putting those worthless thoughts aside, Thedret left the poor man to rest and went in search of Elowyn. He was surprised to find her alone, leaning over the chapel's central altar.

"What are you doing?" he asked, and she turned a dark, thoughtful frown on him.

"Swallowing my pride?" she answered in a growl. "And asking a god to swallow his as well. Areldur says I must ask Stendarr to give me the strength to lift the curse, something he has never had the 'faith' to do. I'd rather tell Stendarr to go straight to Oblivion."

Thedret leaned beside her for a silent moment, watching her scowl at the altar. "We need those gauntlets," he prompted gently. "And we've come so far…"

"I know." She sighed sharply. "Fine. Just…shut up."

He resisted the urge to smirk and moved back a step as she squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. "Alright, Stendarr," though her voice was barely above a whisper, the god's name seemed to stick in her mouth like bitter ash, "You know why I'm here. Let's get this charade over with, hmm? Give me what I need to do your job for you since you're too lazy or incompetent or both to do it yourself."

Thedret blinked in astonishment. Despite her antics thus far, he had never expected such blatant, blasphemous words from her directed straight to the proverbial face of one of the Nine Divines. "Elowyn," he hissed, grabbing her by the elbow, "you cannot…"

The knight gasped and dropped the woman's arm as a pale white light sprang from her palms. The shimmering energy swirled around her hands, twining between her fingers and sending sparkling tendrils up her wrists. Power simmered in the air around her, prickling his skin like little jolts of electricity. The light tightened and converged over her open palms, then seemed to sink into her skin and vanish without a trace.

Elowyn stared at her hands for a moment, then flashed him a smug grin. "You were saying?"

"Hmph." He tried to bury his disbelief under indignation. "The gods must really need you to put you with your tongue, my Lady."

"Is that why you put up with me, hmm?" She cast him a sidelong glance as she passed and started down the stairs. "Because you _need_ me? Or does it have something to do with my tongue?"

Thedret decided this was definitely one of those moments when he would be better served saying nothing, so he trailed just behind the amused woman to Kellen's door. Inside, the cursed man was still sleeping.

Elowyn bent over him, but she hesitated. Thedret could all but feel the apprehension rolling off of her, though he could not understand why.

"What's wrong?" he whispered.

"I…it's nothing," she answered quietly with a shake of her head, but her expression remained anxious. Before he could press her on the matter, though, she reached gently out and touched Kellen on the shoulder.

The same light seeped from her hand, dancing in sparkling strings from her fingertips to Kellen's body. The cursed Redguard woke with a startled gasp, then froze wide-eyed as the magic wove itself down his arm and across his chest. Elowyn sank to her knees, but reached out with her other hand to touch Kellen's forehead. Thedret shielded his eyes as the radiance became too bright to behold, then with a flash, the room was dark again. Only Elowyn's ragged breathing broke the silence for a long moment.

"What…?" Kellen pushed himself upright with an expression of utter disbelief. Staring down at his hands, he flexed his fingers. They did not tremble as they had before. He braced his hands on the side of the bed and straightened his thin body up until he stood on firm, steady legs. "I…I cannot believe it…"

He stepped up and down a few times, then bounced on his toes and let out a laugh. A single tear ran a silent track down his cheeks, his face a mask of shock and relief. "I'm not tired...it doesn't hurt anymore...I…am cured!" He stared down at Elowyn still kneeling on the floor, her body braced again the side of the bed. She smiled weakly at his elated expression. "You have broken the curse! I…I want to run. I want to _run_!"

And he did, without so much as a thank you, Kellen sprinted from the room, his bare feet slapping against the stones of the stairs to the chapel above.

"Amazing." Thedret shook his head in wonder and reached down to help Elowyn to her feet. "You have lifted a three hundred year old curse. That's…astonishing. Stendarr truly is merciful. Are you alright?"

The woman swayed for a moment, her mouth turned down in a frown of concentration. "Yeah, sure," she mumbled tiredly, "nothing to it."

Thedret frowned and caught her eye. Something was off about her, but he was not sure if it was simply weariness from doing Stendarr's will. "Are you certain?"

"Of course," she smiled thinly and brushed his arm aside. She took two steps toward the door before her legs buckled. Thedret's reaction was too slow and he only managed to catch her elbow before she jolted to her knees on the floor. "See?" she wheezed. "Never better."

"What's going on?" he demanded as he knelt in front of her. Her face looked sunken in, pale, and a light sheen of sweat coated her forehead. "Elowyn, talk to me."

"Well, I…" she hesitated, then sighed and looked at him with hooded, red eyes. "I may have neglected to mention that the curse was not actually _lifted_."

"What do you mean? I just saw Kellen run from the room! Of course it was lifted."

"Not lifted," she murmured, her expression almost apologetic. "Transferred. Transferred to me."


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N**: It bothered me a little that this supposedly horrible curse that is killing an otherwise perfectly healthy man, translates to little more than a slight inconvenience to the PC. I could really only tell the difference in-game during intense combat situations when I'd suddenly have no fatigue left. So, Kellen's curse is going to have basically the same effect on Elowyn as it had on him. Because it's more realistic. And I like being mean to Elowyn. :3 She tends to fall apart at the seams when she's physically hindered.

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 32**

Elowyn had never imagined she would see Thedret so..._angry_. Of course, she was dealing with her own problems, but thinking about him was a sight better than dwelling on her own current situation. Even as they made their way back toward the Priory, Elowyn clinging to Shadowmere's saddle and trying not to look as pitiful as she felt, he was still fuming. It almost made her feel bad for not telling him exactly what lifting the curse was going to entail from the beginning. She had not told him because she did not need to add his second-guessing to her own. And now that the deed was done, she wanted nothing more than to turn back time and undo her stupidly selfless act.

His first reaction had been the expected, "Why didn't you tell me?" followed closely by an _order_ for her to ask Stendarr to lift the curse from her. She had laughed. That had not exactly pleased him, so Thedret had prayed instead, and gotten the only answer she had expected. Silence.

"I don't understand," he had said after helping her onto her horse back near the Chorrol stables, his voice sharp and strained. He had looked so painfully confused that she felt a twinge of sympathy for him. "If you are their champion, why would they do this to you? How can you defeat Umaril if you can barely hold your sword for more than a few moments?"

She had said nothing because she was fairly certain what his unanswerable questions signified. It was the start of a crisis of faith, something she had been through years ago. She looked back at the entire process with disdain and a detached sense of sadness for her old, naive self. Of course, she had never had much love for the gods then either, but she had only developed her open disdain over the last several years. She knew that Thedret could just as well become all the more committed to his beloved Nine Divines once events played themselves out, but she decided it was not worth the energy to speculate on which way he would turn.

"We're nearly home," Thedret spoke quietly from his horse, startling her from her thoughts. In the distance, smoke curled up from the chimney of the Priory poking above the tree line. "I'll send Brellin into Skingrad to buy every restorative potion in town. I know it will not cure you, but it might be enough to sustain you for a time. Until we figure this mess out."

She decided not to mention that her biggest concern was that the sun was setting and she was not sure she would be able to hunt this night without exhausting herself. "Send Avita with him, hmm?" she murmured. "She can use her feminine wiles to get a better price."

Thedret sighed. "How can you jest at a time like this?"

"What would you rather me do?" She tried to keep the pain from her voice, but his startled expression told her that she sounded as broken as she felt. "Weep and pine for myself?"

"No, I just…"

"Hail, and welcome back!" Geimund waved as they approached, a wide smile on his face. His brother stood beside him, both of them sweating and streaked with dirt and holding practice blades. "Tell us you have good news!"

Elowyn managed a soft chuckle and called, "Come help me down from my horse and prepare to be ecstatic with hope when you hear our tale."

The more vocal Nord lost his smile and passed his sword off to his brother. "What's wrong?" he demanded as he trotted up beside Shadowmere and reached to help her. "You look awful."

She groaned and leaned on him for support even after her feet touched the ground, but she forced a pinched smile. "Flatterer. It's just a wee little curse. You can thank Stendarr for it, hmm?"

"What?" The baffled man looked up at Thedret's disapproving stare. "What's she talking about?"

"I'll explain later," Thedret answered with a slightly pleading look. "Help her to her room, please. She needs rest."

Elowyn snorted but did not resist when the Nord steered her toward the Priory doors. "He's like a mother hen sometimes," she muttered to Geimund with an attempt at a grin.

"Because he cares, my Lady," the Nord chided, and Elowyn could think of no clever retort for that.

She tried to deny the anger that swelled in her at how weary she felt just from climbing the few steps to her small room. It was a hopeless, worthless brand of anger. She tried to blink back the tears that burned her tired eyes and she tried to keep a brave face, but the moment her bottom touched her bed, she nearly crumbled. Geimund stood looking down at her, his worry palpable, then asked uncertainly, "Should we draw you a bath again? You women seem to like that."

Elowyn laughed, but the sound hitched in her throat and ebbed away. "That would be wonderful," she whispered around the lump in her throat. She could not remember even feeling so horrible, not physically anyway, and his concern was touching. She half expected her usually strong and agile body to shatter into a thousand, frail pieces. She could handle anything, _anything_ but this…helplessness. Maybe this was why the gods had selected her for this foolish task – because only a madwoman would have accepted such a curse willingly.

The Nord left her room, but was replaced moments later by Thedret, sans armor and weapons. "Brellin and Avita will leave first thing in the morning. I don't trust the roads at night."

Elowyn nodded and dashed away the moisture in her eyes. He was being professional to a fault, probably for her benefit to keep her mind off of her weakness. "Don't forget to tell everyone about Areldur," she reminded him. "I don't want my newest 'knight' being mistaken for an enemy when he arrives."

"Already done," he assured her. He glanced around the room uncomfortably after a tense pause. "Is there…anything I can do for you?"

"No, I…" she lifted one trembling, armor-clad arm and dropped it again with a sigh. "I don't suppose it would be appropriate for me to ask you to undress me, hmm?"

Thedret shifted his weight from foot to foot, and even in the dimly room she could see his skin darken a few shades. "We are comrades at arms," he reasoned aloud with a stern expression, "and you are injured, in a way. So…I do not think it would be inappropriate for me to assist you."

Despite her weariness, Elowyn's eyebrows perked up and Thedret must have suspected a witty retort was forthcoming because he moved quickly to her and helped her to stand. She decided to cut him a break, mostly because she was convinced she might topple over at any moment without his support, and she said nothing as he loosened the buckles on her gauntlets. At first she tried to help, but after a moment he batted her hands away impatiently and she stood still for him to remove her armor piece by piece. Like a worthless cripple.

She silently cursed the gods.

She had sat back down and he was tugging off her boots when Geimund appeared with a tub, the other knights trailing behind with basins of heated water. The big Nord gave Thedret a knowing look, but all he received was a dry stare before Thedret returned to his task. Within moments, and before Elowyn could voice her thanks, the other knights disappeared, closing the door behind them and leaving her barefoot and alone with Thedret at her feet.

He stood to help her up. "Not going to help with my tunic and leggings, hmm?" she managed, though the strain in her voice usurped the teasing tone.

He cleared his throat sharply and dropped her hand. "Enjoy your bath, my Lady," he said quietly, his long legs carrying him quickly toward the door. "I hope it eases some of your discomfort."

"Wait." He paused but did not turn around. "Stay."

She felt like a fool the moment the word came out. "That," he said carefully as he turned half-around to look at her steadily, "_would_ be inappropriate. My Lady."

"I…" she faded off with a trembling laugh. Tears were stinging her eyes again, but she tried to smile through them. "Not for anything like _that_, my Lord. I think the effort would kill me. I just…all I meant was…"

She sighed and would have left it at that had Thedret not turned completely around to stare at her with a demanding sort of curiosity. "Is it so hard to imagine that someone like me would feel…sad?" she asked in a pained whisper. "Helpless? Lonely. I know I am a monster, but…"

"No," he interrupted with a firm shake of his head. "You are not a monster."

She drew in a long, shaky breath and let it out slowly. "This is not my world, Thedret." She did not hope to make him understand, but she felt she had to say it nonetheless. "I should never have returned to this prison, to this 'sanity' that you all value so highly when all I want to do is see it shattered to a thousand pieces.

"I'm…afraid," she admitted. "I just…don't want to be alone right now."

Thedret frowned worriedly at her for a long moment, then murmured, "Tomorrow you will feel better. Once we have those potions, it will give you some of your strength back and things will not look so bleak."

He turned his back again and Elowyn swallowed the despairing sigh that tried to forced its way out of her. "Of course," she whispered, watching him reach for the door. His hand paused, wavered, then he surprised her completely by dropping down to sit on the floor with his back to the room.

"Don't worry," he said over his shoulder when she was still and silent for a long pause, "I give you my word that I won't peek. And I'm a knight, so you know I have to keep my word."

Had she not felt like fainting, she would have had a good laugh at the hint of humor in his tone.


	33. Chapter 33

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 33**

Thedret listened to her splash into the tub and wished that he could stop blushing. Just what in the name of the Nine Divines had convinced him to stay with her, anyway? After a moment of sloshing and the beads in her braids _tink-tinking_ against the side of the tub as she tried to get comfortable in the small space, she let out a tired sigh and the room went silent.

He wracked his brain for something, _anything _to say and finally settled on, "So, your family knew Kellen's?"

"Mmm," she murmured sleepily, "seems so."

"You grew up in Hammerfell, then? That explains your accent."

"Yes." Despite the short reply, her tone was nothing but relaxed. Without turning around, though, he could not be sure if his questions were welcome. And he was not about to turn around.

"My family left Rihad when I was too small to remember," he told her. "I never returned, though I've thought about it."

"It's not much different than here, really," she said in a lazy way. "Especially Rihad. Like a little extension of Cyrodiil. I grew up in the heart of Sentinel, overlooking the bay…always dreaming of sailing off to distant lands."

"Is that how you ended up here?" Thedret decided that talking to someone with his back turned was very irritating.

There was a heavy silence before Elowyn answered. "No. No, sometimes…things don't work out as we'd planned at all. Or, if you have my luck, they _never_ turn out the way you planned. So you just stop planning. Or plan things backward. Or you just stand still and let the plans smash into you."

Thedret floundered for a moment, then asked, "Will you ever go back?"

"To Sentinel?" She laughed weakly. "No. There's nothing there for me."

"I see."

She was quiet for a moment, then sighed. "I know you heard what Kellen said. Since you were standing right next to me when he said it. Is it really so hard to just come out and _ask_ whatever it is you're thinking?"

Thedret was not sure what to make of her tone, but his curiosity ended up getting the better of him. "Kellen mentioned your father. What happened to him?"

"He was murdered." Her voice was calm, almost eerily so.

"By whom?" There was a long pause, and Thedret began to wonder if she would refuse to answer.

"By Cergil. My brother."

Thedret whipped halfway around before he remembered himself and faced the door again. "Your _brother_ murdered your father? What…? Why?"

"It's...it's a bit of a story, but if you wish to hear it…I supposed it's high time someone heard it, hmm? Been keeping it to myself for three decades. They say secrets eat you from the inside out. I've been waiting for a hole to open in my stomach, but no luck yet."

"If you're willing to tell it," he assured her with his face still toward the door, "I would like to hear it."

"Well…my family were smiths by trade," she began after a moment of reflection, "for many generations back. I suppose that's the proper place to start, hmm? My father was the only one to inherit the business after his father's death. All my aunts and uncles followed their wanderlust to other lands, and later my two eldest brothers did the same. My father called their restlessness a disease," her voice went low with sadness, "and perhaps he was right. They all died violent deaths far from home. I suppose I will too, hmm?

"Cergil was the youngest of the boys, though he was still my senior by more than ten years. My mother died shortly after I was born, leaving just the three of us. Because of his skill at his trade, my father was quite wealthy, though he never spoiled us. We had to earn our way in everything. I…I'd like to think it's normal for a child to resent their parent's discipline."

"Yes," Thedret agree softly, "very normal."

"Then I shouldn't feel guilty, hmm?" He heard her beads tapping against the metal tub as she shook her head. "Ah well…

"My father tried to train Cergil as a smith, but my brother was…lazy. Arrogant. Selfish. He felt he was too good for such a lowly trade. It got worse when he took up with Zera, a lowborn, desert rat, gypsy girl. They fell in _love_," she scoffed bitterly, "or so he claimed. Nothing but lust for him and expedience for her.

"I don't know exactly how their plans came about, but at some point they decided that they had waited long enough for my father to die. They wanted the inheritance, of course, but more than that they feared Cergil would be cut off when my father's patience with him was at an end. Which was not far off, to be frank. They…meant to kill us both." Her voice wavered. "But I…hid.

"They set it up to look like a bandit attack on the trade road, not an unusual occurrence. But Father screamed at me to flee, and I did. I was always the obedient child, also quick to follow his instructions. So I did...because he ordered me to. Cergil tried to follow me. I recognized his voice under his hood but I saw the blood on his hands. He must have figured I was as good as dead anyway on my own, so he gave up and let me go."

"How old were you?" Thedret gently interrupted.

"Hmm...eight."

Thedret's mouth dropped open, then he asked, "You've been alone since then? How did you survive?"

"Not very easily," she answered with a sad laugh. "I had no family, no friends, I couldn't return to Sentinel. Who would believe me over my brother? My father's corpse was left to rot beside the road. I thought I would die. I wanted to die. But more than that, much, _much_ more than that…I wanted Cergil to suffer. The gods themselves should quiver before the rage of a vengeance-starved little girl. I was truly a power to be feared, I'm sure."

"It would not surprise me," Thedret had to chuckle gently, although the story and her voice left he deeply saddened.

"Hah, like an angry, wet kitten, hmm? I made my way to Hegathe by hopping on trade wagons. I lived on the streets, stealing food, coin, anything. I learned how to survive, and after many hungry nights and illnesses that could easily have killed me, I fell in with what you'd surely call 'the wrong crowd.' They saved my life.

"For several years I stole everything I could get my hands on, right out of people's pockets, from their dressers while they slept, anything and everything. And every coin I didn't spend on food and basic survival was spent on training in weapons and arms, anything anyone would teach me. I bided my time until I couldn't wait anymore, and then I started hunting."

"Hunting for revenge," Thedret said as the pieces started to fall into place.

"Yes. And don't worry. I don't try to romanticize my life. I wasn't out to avenge my father's wrongful death or bring a murderer to justice. I wanted Cergil's life because of what he'd done to _me_, what he'd stolen from _me_."

"I don't think you really believe that," Thedret found himself saying, and he meant the words.

She chuckled, just a hint of scorn in her tone. "If you say so.

"Rumors of Cergil were not too hard to find, and even easier to follow. He and his pretty wife led a lavish lifestyle off of the fortune my father had saved up. The fortune that should have belonged to me, and there I was robbing to earn each meal, sleeping in the streets. I tracked them through Hammerfell, then straight across Cyrodiil to the Imperial City itself. They'd bought a nice, big manor in the Elven Gardens District and settled in without a care in the world.

"I watched them for weeks, learning their patterns, memorizing their comings and goings. I waited until I knew Zera would be alone. She was sleeping when I broke into the house, peaceful and serene and completely free of any guilt or remorse. You should have seen how fine their home was, how rich and beautiful their rugs and tapestries. I cut her open from throat to hip and watched her writhe in her own blood on their sheets. And it was...justice."

Thedret felt a chill crawl up his spine, but she continued in her soft, detached voice. "I left her there for Cergil to find. He came home just before dawn as he always did on that day…he went into the house, and I waited in the shadows across the street. His screams made me laugh. You know, I think people are actually born crazy but sometimes it just takes living life to really bring it out of us.

"When he burst through the doors, screaming for the guards, I was waiting. I made sure he saw my face, I made sure he knew who I was, and when he tried to run, I let him think he could escape. I ran my sword clean through his back, just as he'd stabbed our father in the back years before."

"You killed him in the middle of the street?" Thedret demanded in disbelief. The entire story was a lot to take in, but no wonder Kellen implied the rumors were horrible.

"Like the dog he was, yes. It was a better death than he deserved."

"And the guards…?"

"Beat me half to death and threw me in prison. And that is where I met Uriel and got drawn into the gods' games the first time around. The rest, or most of it anyway, you probably already know. And what you don't know I'm not going to tell you. Would spoil my mystique, hmm?"

"That's…" Thedret struggled for words and shook his head. "Elowyn, that's an astounding tale."

Her faint laughter surprised him. "You actually believe me?"

For a moment, he sat in stunned silence. "Shouldn't I?"

"I'm a vampire. You've seen people worship me as Sheogorath. You must know by now that I'm completely insane. I openly detest the Nine Divines. Why would you believe anything I say?"

Thedret had to ponder that. It sounded irrational put in those words…more than irrational. Completely insane.

"I don't know," he eventually said with a hapless shrug, deciding not to think about it too hard. "I just do."

Her voice was soft and had a gentle, tender note. "I'm...glad that you do. Now," he heard the water slosh, "can you go fetch Avita for me? Unless you want to help me out of here yourself, hmm? I wouldn't want to fall and damage myself, being the precious savior of the gods and all that garbage. But if I do slip, I'd have to fall into your arms...get you all wet...drag you into the tub with me..."

Thedret cleared his throat and stood quickly. "I'll go get Avita, my Lady. Thank you for telling me your tale."

"Thank you for believing it," she answered. The warmth in her tone made his blush darken, but he told himself sternly that it was only the heat of the steam from her bathwater.


	34. Chapter 34

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 34**

"This sounds like a complete waste of time, Elowyn." Thedret frowned as the stubborn woman yanked on her boots. "And time is the one thing you are short on."

"No," she countered as she shoved to her feet, ignoring the hand he offered her, and threw her cloak around her shoulders, "I'm short on _many_ of things. Blood. Cake. Patience. And right now, you're going to catch the _short_ end of my temper."

Thedret snatched up and shouldered her pack before she could reach for it, and with an irritated sigh, she stomped down the stairs toward the front doors of the Priory with him trailing behind. She had been holed up in her room for three solid days, only venturing out once in the wee hours before dawn on the third day to hunt. It had taken her that long to trust herself not to get caught or killed, but thanks to an absurd supply of potions and some experimental alchemy by Avita, Elowyn could reasonably ignore the curse for a fair amount of time. Only at night, when there was no need to waste the precious potions, was she forced to endure the full impact of the bone-numbing exhaustion.

"We have nothing else to go on at this point," she snapped at Thedret over her shoulder. "Sitting here, waiting for the gods to deliver us a sign does nothing for anyone. Not that I don't thoroughly enjoy doing absolutely nothing for days on end."

"And wandering all over Cyrodiil without a purpose is a better idea?" he cried, causing Brellin and Avita to look up from the dusty tombs they were reading at the dining room table. The pair exchanged a knowing look before returning to their respective studies.

"We will not be wandering!" She was glad the Priory doors were already open because she would surely have thrown them wide like an angry child. "I already explained this to you, so try to pay attention. Males and your limited attention spans. I…"

"Yes, yes, I know," he waved his arm in exasperation, "a friend in Bruma, I heard you! Elowyn, what if we're attacked? Have you thought of that? You can't even wear armor right now, let alone fight off bandits or ogres or gods' know what else!"

She stopped in her tracks and turned to him with her hands planted firmly on her hips. "Do you want to run this circus, Thedret?" she demanded. "Do you think the gods were mistaken for choosing me? Because I do, and I have from the very beginning. I'll head back to my home and _you_ can break the news to them, hmm? I've already told them to kiss my ass and they _still_ want me to finish the job!"

"Hey, whoa, whoa!" Carodus frowned disapprovingly at the two of them across the courtyard, his armor gleaming in the early morning sun. Shadowmere stood nearby, saddled and waiting, as was Thedret's horse and another young gelding. "Can you two have your lover's quarrel another time? I thought we were in a hurry."

"It's _not_ a…wait, what?" Thedret looked from the Imperial back to Elowyn. "We…?"

"Carodus is coming with us, of course," Elowyn spat. "Did you think I would be stupid enough to put us both at risk, hmm? I know I'm not much good in a fight right now. I don't need _you_ to remind me. This is _my_ body after all. Besides, this isn't about safety, is it, hmm? It's about _you _not wanting to follow _my _orders."

Without waiting for him to respond, she strode to Shadowmere and accepted Carodus' help to get into the saddle. "I can't believe she let you touch her," the Redguard quietly commented after she had found her balance.

The Imperial shrugged and patted Shadowmere's shoulder. "I think she knows you can't saddle her yourself very easily right now. She's a good horse."

The mare tossed her head and nosed Carodus aside roughly. "I believe she prefers to think of herself as decidedly evil," Elowyn chuckled after the bemused Imperial as he went to his own horse.

Thedret dutifully set about settling Elowyn's pack across the back of Shadowmere's saddle, sending the moody woman a cautious glance in the process. "My apologies," he said softly, though his tone was somewhere between contrite and grudging. "This is your mission, and I should not question your choices."

Elowyn let slip an irritated sigh, and the moment she was sure her pack was secured, she turned Shadowmere to trot out of the yard. A moment later, the two men followed, but the tension in the air was stifling and she knew the long ride to Bruma would be unpleasant for them all. But she could not bring herself to feel guilty for her attitude, irrational though it might seem. She deserved the leeway to be disagreeable in this situation.

It was not simply because of the curse either. The helpless, worthless feeling she suffered, along with a dark raging bitterness at the Nine Divines, was certainly enough to make her unpleasant to be around, yes. But she was also angry with herself, and for many reasons. She felt more than ever that she should not have come back, that she should have sealed that blasted portal from the Isles and stayed in her home. And she was angry with herself for trusting Thedret enough to tell him a story she should never have repeated.

As expected, the ride north was uncomfortable. She was forced to drink two bland potions just to keep enough energy to stay in her saddle. Eventually Carodus and Thedret began to make idle chat, but Elowyn remained stubborn and sullen until the walls of Bruma came into sight late that afternoon.

"Alright, listen up," she said, effectively silencing their debate on the benefits of blunt weapons versus blades. She had to wonder if her knights always indulged in such dull conversation. "I'm not completely sure where I stand with these people, or even if my contact will be here, so you two need to let me do the talking."

She could feel them exchange a glance behind her back. "As you wish," Thedret replied in a neutral tone.

The east gate of the city loomed before them, but Elowyn steered Shadowmere down the smaller road that wound north along the city wall. When she did not stop at the north gate either, Carodus asked, "Your friend is not in Bruma?"

"No."

Thedret's voice had just the faintest edge of irritation. "Then were are we going, my Lady?"

"Cloud Ruler Temple, of course. Now, shut up."

Despite the complaints of her aching joints, Elowyn urged Shadowmere faster up the sloped road. The high, imposing gate of the fortress rose before them within moments.

"Halt!" A tall but young Nord woman gripped her enormous axe in two hands and glared daggers at the trio as she strode out to meet them. "You are not expected. State your business or be gone!"

Elowyn forced her body to seem as steady as possible as she slipped from the saddle and approached the warrior woman. "I seek Baurus, Knight Brother of the Blades. Is he within?"

The guard eyed her from head to foot, distrust obvious in her expression. "And who are you?"

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "I assume he's here then, hmm? You may tell him his little sister is here to speak with him." When the Nord only stood staring at her, Elowyn made a shooing gesture with her hand. "Go on now."

Scowling, the woman rapped her knuckles on the gate and a small peephole opened. While the Nord whispered to her comrade on the other side of the towering gate, Thedret leaned close to Elowyn. "I thought you said your brothers were all dead."

"Hmm? Oh, they are. Baurus is not really my brother. He just…" she felt an odd twist of sadness and hopeful anticipation at the same moment, "well, he's the brother I should have had, I suppose."

After a few tense moments, there was a shout from within the fortress. With a rumbling squeal of old hinges, the gates parted and a small group of men came marching down the walkway. The Blades were tense and grim faced, but when the gray-haired leader of their procession let out a disbelieving laugh, they all seemed to relax a notch.

"Do my eyes deceive me?" Baurus looked much the same, aside from some new worry lines and the striking gray color of his short hair. When Elowyn pushed her hood back and grinned at him, the man's expression transformed from stunned disbelief to an elated smile. He broke away from the group following him and loped down the ramp to sweep Elowyn up into a crushing bear hug. She was certain she heard one of her ribs crack.

The vampire wheezed out a laugh, but returned the embrace as roughly as she was able. "Big Brother, how I've missed you," she managed to choke out, as much from the hug as from a sharp pang of emotions. Here she had been worried that he would be angry with her for vanishing so many years before, but he seemed only pleased and relieved.

Baurus pushed her back to study her and held her at arm's length by her shoulders. "You haven't changed a bit, Little Sister," he declared with a rueful shake of his head.

She laughed and reached up to poke playfully at his hairline. "You certainly have," she teased. "What interesting tales you must have if life has turned you gray so prematurely, hmm?"

The man's smile slipped for a moment into something close to a distasteful scowl, but he quickly chuckled it off. "If only you knew. Gods…" she gazed at her in disbelief again, "what's it been? Almost twelve years I think."

"Something like that."

"I…" Baurus trailed off and leaned in toward her face with a startled frown. "What in Oblivion happened to your eyes?"

Elowyn laughed lightly, ignoring the tiny fluttering of nervousness in her gut. "Nothing of importance. And a lady never tells, hmm? But come, invite us inside! I need to sit down and we have much to discuss."


	35. Chapter 35

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 35**

Thedret was awestruck at his surroundings. Never in all his life had he imagined he would be standing inside Cloud Ruler Temple, the stronghold of the legendary Blades. Though he had never thought of himself as a lowly man, he had to reign in a certain sense of inadequacy when faced with such an ancient and well-respected group of men and women. He felt a bit relieved when he noticed Carodus' similar wide-eyed stare.

The Redguard knight was only half-listening to Elowyn and her former companion chattering on about old times. The woman artfully tiptoed around the question of her whereabouts for the last decade, and Baurus reluctantly let the issue drop after a few moments. They eventually migrated to the matter at hand after a not-so-brief explanation of the exploits of the new Knights of the Nine.

"You've been cursed?" The aging Blade stared incredulously at Elowyn's passive expression as she sipped gingerly at a glass of wine. "I…I can't even tell. You look a little tired, but other than that…"

"I have modern alchemy to thank for that," she answered with a mild smile.

Baurus frowned at that, but eventually shook his head and murmured, "I thought you'd sworn to never aid the Nine again. And I could hardly blame you. After Martin's death…"

Elowyn raised her hand to stop whatever he had intended to say, and Thedret made a note of her hard, pained expression. "I can't change the past, and I meant my words when I said them. Very much. But you know I cannot simply leave something half finished. I started this without really knowing what I was starting, which…really isn't all that uncommon of a situation for me, hmm? And now I've damned myself to complete it. So I will."

"Alright then," her friend answered with a shrug, "what do you need from me?"

"We're missing two artifacts still," she explained as she hauled the enormous, leather-bound book from her pack that Thedret had come to learn was her journal. It was little more than an explosion of parchments covered with her scribbly writing all shoved between thick bindings. How she ever made sense out of any of it, he would never understand. "And of course the gods are absolutely no help even though this is their problem. We're looking for the greaves and the sword. Do you know anything about them?"

Baurus frowned and scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Nothing springs to mind. The fact that you've gathered all the others is rather astounding in and of itself, but there might be something in the archives. You are still a Blade Sister, Elowyn. Everything we have here is at your disposal."

Elowyn was visibly relieved and even let out a small, nervous laugh. "Big Brother, I'd thought for certain you'd stripped me of my rank and had me declared unfit after the last time we spoke."

"Grief spoke for you then," the older man said solemnly. "I couldn't hold that against you. I was grieving too, you know."

"Yes, well…" she tried to bury her discomfort, and quickly changed the subject. "In truth, I'd half-expected the Blades to be out of business. Considering that there's no longer an Emperor to protect and all that, hmm?"

Baurus snorted, his expression stony and cold. "The Blades are no longer what they once were. Our glory has passed. We spend our efforts protecting bickering, pedantic council members now, reduced to little more than glorified bodyguards and petty thieves of useless secrets."

His bitterness lingered for only a moment, before he waved off the matter with a tired smile. "You don't need to hear my complaints. Come on, Little Sister. You and your knights can search the archives for as long as you need."

And search they did, through mountains of tomes and scrolls and faded stacks of parchment. Long into the night they toiled as the candles burned down and the Blades, even Baurus, went off to their beds. Thedret and Carodus' armor ended up piled on the floor as they joined Elowyn to sit cross-legged on thin rugs to dig through their individual towers of books. Resisting the urge to curse at each subsequent paper cut his fingers suffered and struggling not to sneeze as dust burned his eyes, Thedret decided he would have been much happier on a bloody battlefield instead.

It was shortly before dawn when Elowyn sighed and declared that she needed to get some air. They had found only vague mentions of the remaining artifacts, none of which gave them any greater idea where to look for them, and he well understood her frustration. She had been popping potions all night long just to keep awake despite her knights' insistence that she get some rest, and her exhaustion showed on her face.

The moment Elowyn was gone, Carodus groaned and flopped flat onto his back on the cold floor. "Would it dishonor me as a knight if I say I give up?"

Thedret chuckled humorlessly and sifted through the mountain of history in front of him. "Yes. But I can't say I blame you in this case, so I won't tell anyone. Another few nights of this and I just might join you in defeat."

The Imperial sighed and stretched his arms above his head, his shoulders giving an audible _pop_. "I just don't get it. Why have the gods brought us all this way just to leave us waiting around?"

Thedret paused in his perusal of the massive historical text in his lap. "It's only been a few days," he admonished gently, though he had been thinking similar thoughts ever since Elowyn had taken Kellen's curse. "Be patient."

Carodus grunted. "Tell that to Umaril when he comes striding into the Priory, demanding why we're not ready to face him. And with their Champion now cursed…"

Before Thedret could open his mouth to reply, a bustle of sudden activity in the hallway outside the vast chamber startled them to their feet. Elowyn came in, her face lined with a nervous frown, followed closely by Brellin, of all people, and another man Thedret had never met.

"I found something that belongs to us at the gates," the woman said with a nod toward the Bosmer. "He tracked us here _and_ he brought a new friend who came bearing a pretty new bauble for me." She tossed a wrapped bundle at Thedret, who caught it and stared disbelieving down at the greaves within. "Isn't that sweet of him?"

"Are these…?" Thedret stared between Elowyn and the young Redguard behind her. The newcomer was barely more than a boy, his clothing was stained and he looked so weary that he could have toppled over on the spot. When Elowyn did not answer, the young man gave a short nod of confirmation at Thedret. "I…where did you get these?"

"This is Lathon," Elowyn stated as if that were the answer to his question. When Thedret shook his head in confusion, she continued, "He was the squire of Sir Roderic of Wayrest. Sir Roderic was also seeking the artifacts of the Crusader. We bumped into each other some time back. Apparently he recovered the greaves and discovered the location of the sword as well. Right before he was brutally slain, that is."

Thedret's heart surged with hope and he stepped quickly toward Lathon. "My sympathies for your loss, but if you know the location, you must tell us immediately. Where is the sword?"

"In a cavern not far from here, Sir," the younger man replied with certainty. "Underpall Cave it is called, southwest of here toward Chorrol. I can take you there straight away."

"Which," Elowyn interrupted briskly, "I think is sheer stupidity. We all need rest, Lathon included."

"What? No!" Thedret heard himself say before he had even thought about it.

"_We_ need rest," Elowyn emphasized firmly, but Thedret would hear none of it.

"This is the _last_ artifact, Elowyn" Behind him, Carodus vehemently voiced his agreement and Thedret plowed on. "We should go _now_."

There was something about the anxious way she stared at him that made Thedret wonder if he was forgetting something, but after a moment she sighed heavily and strode to gather her pack. "Get your armor back on," she snapped to the knights without sparing them a glance. "I know where this cave is. I'll meet you all there since my opinion means nothing."

"Elowyn, wait!" Thedret started to follow her, but the woman only lengthened her stride.

"She should not go alone," Lathon said urgently. "The sword is being wielded by a fell wraith! It slew Sir Roderic. It's very dangerous!"

Thedret cursed under his breath and pointed at Carodus. "Bring my armor with you," he commanded as he backed quickly through the doorway. "I'll follow her and make sure she doesn't do anything...normal."


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N:** Thanks for reviews! :)

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 36**

The hooves of Thedret's bay gelding pounded the rough, broken terrain behind Elowyn, but he could not hope to keep pace with Shadowmere. Elowyn tried to lose him in the woodlands, but his shouts were never far enough away for her to feel she had truly left him behind. The fool – she could kill him for being so stubborn. And that was the precise reason she needed to put distance between them.

Despite the exhaustion of her curse, a hard, angry kind of insanity drove her and spurred Shadowmere to run faster without needing to be urged. The sun crested the horizon, and Elowyn could not help but cry out in pain as the rays scorched down upon her. She tried to bury herself in her cloak, to hide from the deadly heat, but it was not enough. Searing pain and the nauseating stench of burning flesh filled her senses.

Why had she been so stupid and put off feeding for so long? The search for the sword and greaves had been a welcome distraction from her current physical condition and she had foolishly lost track of time. It was a mistake she had not made in many, many years. She had been nearly out the gate to find a convenient victim in the streets of Bruma when she had heard the riders approaching Cloud Ruler Temple. Brellin's timing could not have been worse.

She abandoned Shadowmere and dove for the cave as soon as it came into view. Her body screamed in protest as she scrambled inside, her blistered, withered skin cracking into open sores and fissures as she slipped and skittered to a stop in the blessed darkness. The curse pressed down on her suddenly as the desperate burst of adrenaline left her, and she collapsed into a smoldering, whimpering heap on the stone floor.

"Elowyn?"

The wounded vampire started to turn around, but the flicker of torchlight stopped her and she covered herself completely with the cloak. Of course he would bring a torch, she thought bitterly. He was human and needed the light to see. In more than ten years, it was the first time she could recall wishing she was just a simple human once again, if only to escape the pain and hunger that seared through her.

"Thedret, stop!" she snarled when he said her name again, and he halted so suddenly that she hoped he had remembered exactly what she was. Good. He needed to be wary. "I'm such a fool. This is my fault. No, it's _their _fault. Don't come closer. Should never have come back…should have..."

She ground her teeth together to silence the mindless babbling that threatened to escape, but that only caused her to take a sharp breath in through her nose. She could _smell_ him, the warm, life-giving blood pulsing through his veins. The blood that would douse the inferno raging under her skin, the blood she surely needed more than he did.

"Elowyn, I brought you another potion to help with the curse," he said very carefully, "and a healing potion if you need it. Are you injured?"

"I said stay back!" she growled savagely into her cowl when he stepped forward. "Am I injured? Hah! Can't you obey _anything_ I tell you?"

"I'm trying to help," he answered, his voice still cautious.

"If you wish to have your throat torn out, then by all means, keep helping!" Her shout echoed off the stone walls and she cringed as her head pounded and swam. "It's all unraveling…I knew it would…matter of time…only a…always a matter of time…"

"Enough of this." Thedret's voice was commanding then, the same tone she had witnessed him use on the other knights from time to time. They always obeyed him, always deferred to his judgement, second only to her own. That was a good thing, she decided, but her aching body would not let her dwell on that thought. "The others are not far behind. We don't have time for delays."

"Keep them out of here. Keep them out until after nightfall, then I can…just keep them away! Your lives depend on it. And mine. Hah! And mine..."

Thedret was silent for a long moment as if he were working something out, but the longer he stood there, the worse Elowyn's situation became. The pain was twisting into a burning itch as her skin cooled, and she could barely resist the desperate urge to scratch at her face and neck. She knew from past experiences when the sun had punished her for being caught outside that scratching would only make the skin peel and flake off in pale, dead chunks.

"Turn around," Thedret eventually said. "Look at me."

"Get…_out_," she growled through clenched teeth. She tried to pull the cloak tighter, but her arms trembled and her head felt thick and clouded. Internally she cursed the Nine with the worst words she had ever learned. Which, considering the sailors she had grown up around, was a rather extensive repertoire of insults.

"No," he insisted stubbornly. "Turn around. I need to know what's going on."

She started to sneer, but what came out was a harsh bark of laughter. "You are such a fool. You belong with your petty gods. Do you have any idea what I am, _who_ I am? I tried to tell you..." The shaking woman gathered her trembling legs under her and used the wall to push herself upright. She was careful to keep her back toward him, and she was silently pleased when Thedret stopped himself from coming to her aid.

"You once said I'm not, but I know I'm a monster. A beast. And that's fine with me. I chose this, and I've accepted it. You never will, but you have to.

"And I _am_ Sheogorath." She slowly turned toward the torchlight, not daring to move too quickly lest her legs buckle beneath her and ruin the dramatic effect. "The Lord of Madness, who dances for the Nine and cannot die. The great, legendary _hero_, whom prophets herald and women swoon over." The other Redguard's face blanched at the sight of her puckered, scorched skin, and Elowyn laughed again. "Not the face you were expecting? They never said madness was beautiful, hmm?"

"What…" Thedret's voice stuck in his throat for a moment before he swallowed and tried again. "What's happened to you?"

"The sun does not love my kind. I denied my hunger for too long and have paid the price. When the others see me, the price will double, hmm? This is the payment I receive for helping your gods. But," she eyed him significantly, "I am _very_ hungry right now."

Thedret took an instinctual step backward but recovered enough to frown as he tried to sort out the situation. "Why did you let this happen to you? I don't…"

"_Let this?_" she snarled. "I told you to _wait_! Your impatience is to blame for this! All of you fool males! Sheogorath at least was wise enough to choose a female to replace him! And Oblivion take your precious Nine as well! I tried to get here before the sun, but…"

"What can we do?" Thedret cut in harshly. "This arguing serves no one! Tell me what needs to be done and we'll do it."

"Get _out_!" she shrieked, her whole body locked and tense for a tremulous moment before her exhaustion won out. "Get away...before I...." The rock floor spiraled up toward her, arms flailing as she tried to focus on not cracking her head open against the stone. This time, Thedret could not stand idly by, and even as she desperately wished he would get away from her, a dark part of her smiled.

As he reached out, his torch clattered to the ground, its sputtering light sending mad shadows dancing across the walls. She flopped to her knees as he caught her shoulder with one hand, holding her slouched form from completely crumpling. His scent, his warm, human smell filled her mind and awakened the dormant, feral side of her that usually stayed contentedly caged.

Instinct led her to snap her hand up and grab him by the throat, her fingers digging into his flesh like iron despite the trembling of her weak body. She raised her unsteady head to look into his wide, suspicious eyes, though he stubbornly continued to hold her up and did not struggle. She could feel his seductive pulse pounding beneath her fingers.

"El…owyn." His voice wheezed from his throat and a tiny sliver of reason crept into her clouded mind, but not nearly enough for her to ease her stranglehold on his throat.

He lifted his other hand to show the potions held there, perhaps thinking they would calm her or distract her. As he held the restorative potion in front of her face, she tore out the cork with her teeth and downed the bland concoction. Almost immediately, strength surged through her frail, cursed body, but the relief only sharpened the agony of her burned flesh.

Thedret started to offer her the healing potion, but she slapped the bottle from his hand. She smiled in cruel satisfaction at the tinkling sound of shattering glass farther down the shaft of the cave, and drank in the sight of his startled, wary expression.

"Fool."

She snarled the word like the animal she knew she was, then threw her weight against him, sending him flat onto his rear end as his back slammed against the wall behind him. Elowyn followed straight through, straddling his thighs as she tilted his head back and sank her fangs into the soft tissue of his throat.

Though she was not gentle and she knew it must be a painful experience for him, Thedret only offered violent resistance for the first few seconds. Her renewed strength ensured that he was thoroughly pinned no matter how he flailed, but she was privately relieved in some detached way that she would not have to injure him unnecessarily. She could both hear and feel a growl rising in his throat, feel his fingers fisting against the sides of her tunic, but for whatever reason he stopped fighting back and sat gasping and rigid beneath her. Pain seared across her flesh as the burns and broken skin and deep fissures knit themselves back together, but she had never felt more pleased by agony in all her life.

Thedret's pulse quickened, his heart struggling to keep up with the sudden and deadly drop in blood supply. Despite being far from satisfied, Elowyn withdrew her mouth from his neck, pausing only to run her tongue lightly over the small wounds in his skin. A shudder ran through him as he struggled to even his breathing, and she was a little impressed that he managed to stay conscious. A small twinge of guilt hit the back of her mind as she looked down at his defiant but dazed expression, but she only smiled and licked her lips.

"You taste better than I expected."

Shadows shifted and played across the faint sunlight filtering through the cave entrance. Elowyn twisted her head to see her two knights and the young squire taking in the scene with a discernible degree of disbelief. Judging by their expressions, they had heard Elowyn's last comment and translated it in an entirely different way than she had meant it. Carodus was the first to recover.

"We can, uh...wait outside if you two need a few more minutes…"

Elowyn laughed, for the first time really aware of how compromising their position was, and smirked wickedly down at Thedret's thunderous expression. "No need. We can pick up where we left off later, hmm?"


	37. Chapter 37

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 37**

Dazed, weakened and reeling from fury and disbelief at what had just occurred – what he had _allowed_ to happen – Thedret could do little more than stare as Elowyn stood and brushed dust off her knees. Her curse seemed all but nonexistent as she tossed her beaded braids over her shoulders and offered Thedret her hand to help him to his feet with a bemused smile playing across her lips. She looked completely and utterly human once more.

"I…" Fury flooded through him suddenly. The faint stench of her formerly charred skin lingered on his clothes and nearly made him gag. His fingers flew to his neck where she had bitten him, but they came away clean. Though the skin was slightly damp from her mouth and the pain, the likes of which he had never suffered before, still lingered, there was not a drop of blood on his skin or on her lips. "You…"

"I hope you're not expecting an apology," Elowyn all but purred, her blood-colored eyes bright with curiosity and madness as she stared pointedly down at him. Thedret ground his teeth, ignoring the hand she still offered him, and used the wall to push himself to his feet. He wobbled unsteadily for a moment as dark spots swam across his vision, and the woman in front of him added, "I did warn you, you know."

Thedret opened his mouth to spit out a furious reply, but Carodus brushed between the two of them and bent to retrieve the forgotten torch from the cave floor. In his anger, Thedret had all but forgotten about the other men. The Imperial surveyed the shattered potion bottle and he was obviously hiding a grin when he faced the pair again. "If a pretty woman pinned me against a wall like that, I don't think I'd be looking for an apology," he commented with a knowing wink.

Elowyn's coy grin left Thedret balling his hands into fists. Her bravado was infuriating. "Not all men appreciate aggressive women," she told the Imperial, but her eyes never left Thedret's face.

Carodus snorted, "Those men are fools."

The silence that followed his statement went from casual, to awkward, to downright tense as Thedret stared hard at Elowyn's cocky expression. The young squire, Lathon, shifted his weight from foot to foot and cleared his throat, and Brellin and Carodus exchanged a baffled glance. Neither Elowyn nor Thedret moved. She seemed expectant and he could not help but do what the crazy woman seemed to be waiting for him to do. He should have done it sooner.

"I should have told them long before now," Thedret voiced his thoughts solemnly, his voice carrying easily in the narrow cave.

"Then do it already, hmm?" she murmured with a challenging tilt of her head.

He could read nothing from her expression aside from a strange, simmering excitement. Did she really expect him to spill her secret? His fear that she was dangerous was proven true, or so it seemed, and his conscience now screamed even louder than the other knights deserved to know whom they were really following. Would she turn on them as well if another such situation arose?

"Uh…" Carodus scratched the back of his neck uncertainly, interrupting Thedret's confused musing. "You know, we don't really need to hear the details…"

The corner of Elowyn's mouth twitched into a wider smile that made the man standing opposite her utterly furious. "Thedret seems to think you do."

"No, that really won't be necessary," Brellin spoke up, his soft voice also awkward. "We, uh…we already had a betting pool on when you two would finally give in. Had it for a while, actually..."

Thedret glared in icy anger at Elowyn for a moment longer before the Bosmer's words sank in. "You…" he tore his eyes off the smirking woman and stared in dumb confusion from one sheepish knight to the other. "Give in to what?"

"Well, you know," Carodus answered with a defensive shrug, "each other. It's not like it was unexpected…"

"You two spend so much time together," Brellin added helpfully.

"And it's nothing to be ashamed of or anything. It's kind of romantic, really. Two knights falling in love while saving the world from evil and all that."

"And you make a nice couple."

Thedret shook his head in distress. "But, we're not…" started to protest, but he was quickly cut off by Elowyn's raucous laughter. The woman clutched at her sides and slumped to sit on the floor of the cave, leaving the confused men to share looks and shrugs. All except Thedret, who tightened his jaw and stared coolly down at her.

"Oh," she managed between fits of shoulder-shaking giggles, "I'm so proud of this moment, really I am." She wiped at the mirthful tears in her eyes and stared up at Thedret with an expression of rapturous amusement. "Go on, my darling love! I'm certain you have something you're just _dying_ to tell them, hmm?"

Thedret felt his fists clench again. He was so angry with her. How could she have violated his trust? After everything they had been through, he had truly begun to open up to her, and to believe that the gods were not wrong in trusting her with this most important task. But he had been faced with a side of her he had not wanted to think about. A side that could rise up at any time, against anyone. She could so easily have killed him.

But she had not.

In fact, he realized with disgust, he had _allowed_ her to feed off of him. He had stopped fighting after the initial shock…why? Because he believed in the gods' plans for her, he told himself. Because despite the many confusing and infuriating things the gods had demanded of her, she had carried the weight of the burdens and insisted on pressing forward. As much as he wanted to hate her, to see her purely as a monster as she had claimed she was, he could not let go of his faith so easily. Because if he believed she was nothing but a beast, then he would have to also believe that the gods had made a phenomenal mistake.

Yes, that was it. That _must_ be it. It was a matter of faith and nothing more.

Elowyn must have read the change in Thedret's expression, because her amusement faded until it was replaced by a faint, sad smile. His eyes danced away from that look. He did not want to forgive her. He did not know if he could trust her, but the gods did, and until that changed, he had to stay silent.

"Where is my armor?" he abruptly demanded of no one in particular.

"I…it's on your horse," Carodus piped up. "Outside."

Thedret gave the man a curt nod and headed for the entrance of the cave. Behind him he heard Elowyn climb to her feet and ask playfully, "So. Who won the pot then?"

"Ah, Gukimir, I believe," the Imperial answered. "Lucky bastard. He always wins."

Thedret tuned out her answering laughter, and barely heard Lathon as he murmured to Brellin, "Is this…normal behavior for this company of knights?"

Brellin chuckled and patted the squire on the back. "No, friend. Usually things are a little crazy."


	38. Chapter 38

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 38**

It was difficult not to giggle uncontrollably as she trailed along after the knights through the twisting, eerie tunnels. Thedret had surprised her, for many reasons, and she was trying very hard to keep her more serious thoughts at bay by focusing on the madness of the situation. She had fed off of her most trusted knight. Despite her repeated warnings for him to get away from her, she felt guilty. She _hated_ feeling guilty. So she laughed instead.

Elowyn's amusement died as soon as they discovered Sir Roderic's mutilated corpse. The once proud hero had been slashed open from shoulder to groin, his bloody entrails spilling through the massive split in his armor. His head looked to have been nearly twisted off his shoulders, and his wide, vacant eyes sent chills down Elowyn's spine. To think she had spoken to the man not long ago…

Lathon knelt beside his former master's body and let out a forlorn sigh. "My Lord…" his voice cracked and he ducked his head to hide the tears in his eyes. "You should not have ended this way…I abandoned you…"

"Where is the wraith?" Thedret asked the younger man after a pause, though his tone was not unkind.

The squire drew a shaky breath and wiped at his face with the back of his hand before shoving to his feet again. "It should be close. There's a wide chamber through this gap here. That's where it ambushed us the first time. Sir Roderic ordered me to flee…"

Thedret nodded solemnly. "It won't win this time. You two stay here," he said with a hard glance at Elowyn and Lathon. "Brellin, Carodus, you're with me."

The two knights nodded and started to move forward, but Elowyn caught Thedret's arm. She noticed the way his back stiffened at her touch, and his eyes were narrow and cold when he looked at her, but he did not pull away. "Excuse me?" she inquired with an innocent smile. "Just what in Oblivion do you think you're doing?"

"You're in no condition to fight," he stated flatly. "You have no armor and you will only get hurt or worse."

Elowyn tilted her head and raised a playful eyebrow. "I didn't know you cared so much for my safety," she murmured in a tone that made the other men present shift uncomfortably. "This is my fight. Your gods have decided that, hmm?"

"No." Thedret's tone was final, and Elowyn was tempted to press the issue just to see what he would do to stop her from getting involved. Tie her up perhaps? The mental images were most amusing. "Stay here."

Elowyn wanted to argue as the stubborn man brushed past her, but Brellin stepped up and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry, my Lady. He only wishes to keep you safe. We'll make you proud."

And they did. As she and Lathon watched from the safety of the shadows, the three knights cautiously entered the misty chamber beyond. Elowyn's eyes allowed her to clearly track their movements. Thedret and Carodus walked several feet apart, each man's chosen weapon and shield at the ready, while Brellin flanked them into the shadows along the walls with his bow drawn. When the wraith emerged from the far side of the cavern with a scream of rage, the men were ready and fought with skill and coordination that made Elowyn smile into the darkness.

After a brief flurry of battle, the fell wraith let out a final blood-curdling shriek and crumbled to dust at Carodus' feet, the sword in its skeletal hand clattering sharply against the stone floor of the cave. Elowyn stepped across the room and stooped to retrieve the blade, but the moment her fingertips brushed the hilt of the weapon, she jerked her hand away with a pained hiss.

"What's wrong?" Brellin emerged from the far side of the room where he had been emptying his quiver into the now-defeated wraith. Carodus was hugging his ribs with one hand, but he waved off their concerned looks, saying it was only a small flesh wound.

"The sword," Elowyn finally answered with a shake of her head, "there's something wrong with it."

"Wrong?" Thedret echoed as he crouched beside where the weapon had fallen but did attempt to touch it. Elowyn's fingers burned with a strange, icy tingle, but after a moment of shaking and flexing the offended digits, her hand returned to normal.

"It's corrupted," Lathon offered as if he had only just remembered something. "That's what Sir Roderic said of this place itself. That there is some sort of corruption here, coming from this room. He believed it was the wraith, but perhaps it's the sword as well?"

"I think you're right," Thedret murmured with dark frown.

Elowyn leaned closer to study the weapon on the ground. Unnatural, shadowy splotches danced along the blade in the flickering torchlight. "Okay. So how do we undo that? Because I can't even touch it, let alone swing it at Umaril's face. Which is its intended use, hmm?"

There was a pregnant pause, and Elowyn glance around to see expressions of uncertainty on the men's faces. "What god gifted this weapon to the Crusader?" Thedret abruptly asked.

"Arkay," Carodus supplied around the mouth of a healing potion. He grimaced at the foul tasting brew, then added, "I remember reading something about that in one of those old tomes back at Cloud Ruler Temple."

"Good memory," Elowyn quipped.

"Well, that's the answer then," Thedret said as if everything should be perfectly obvious. "We take the blade to Arkay. The Chapel of Arkay in Cheydinhal."

Elowyn blanched by tried to hide it. Not just Arkay, but Cheydinhal as well. The judgement of a god who despised her and the memories of a former family all in one bitter dose. This would not be a pleasant experience. "How can you be sure of that?" she had to ask, desperately hoping her discomfort was not displayed all over her face.

"I can't," Thedret answered honestly with a frown. "But we have to do something. Wouldn't you agree?"

She bit her tongue to keep from informing him that she most certainly did not agree. Brellin unclasped his cloak and bent to wrap the corrupted weapon in the dark cloth, but when he stood up, Elowyn took the bundled sword from him. "I'll do it myself. The rest of you return to the Priory and get as much rest as you can. I have a feeling things are about to get crazy. And not the fun kind of crazy."

The men nodded and moved back the way they had come in, all except for Thedret. His hard stare told her what he was about to say even before the words left his mouth. "I'm not letting you go alone."

Elowyn offered a chilling smile in answer and tucked the sword under her arm. "I wouldn't have it any other way, my darling."


	39. Chapter 39

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 39**

Thedret sat and poked at the small campfire with a charred twig and pointedly ignored Elowyn watching him from her bedroll on the edge of the clearing. They had traveled so much together recently, but now everything felt changed. While the other three men had made straight for the Priory, the two of them had made camp early just outside Underpall Cave to get some much needed rest before continuing to Cheydinhal. Despite having gotten no sleep the night before, Thedret could not seem to relax enough to rest. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see Elowyn's broken, monstrous face, feel her fangs piercing his skin…

"Someone once told me that we're supposed to talk out our problems," Elowyn commented softly. She sounded weary, and as she had taken no potions for several hours to conserve the few that were left, it came as no great surprise. "Actually, he said it more than once. Kind of a nag, really. He said keeping it all bottled up will make you explode. Rather dramatic, don't you think?"

The man ground his jaw and took another stab at the burning logs. "What is there to discuss?" he growled.

She sighed so quietly that he barely heard it. "Why didn't you just tell them?" Despite his anger, Thedret could not help but stare over at her in surprise at the sadness in her voice. Her shining red eyes seemed to plead with him, though he could not understand why. "Not that I'm complaining, but you'd rather have them believe we're lovers? Just tell them."

"I can't do that," he answered stubbornly.

"Why not?"

"Because I won't be the one to destroy everything good you've accomplished!" he snapped with more passion than he would have liked. He had been brooding too long and now he was, as she had predicted, ready to explode all his frustrations at her. He threw the stick forcefully into the fire and leaned back to rest his weight on the heels of his hands, his feet outstretched toward the pit and his glare fixed on the flickering flames. "Because the name of Elowyn Demark means something to many people, even if it means nothing to you."

"It's _my_ name," the woman snorted. "Of course it means something to me. It means constantly being asked to do things that have nothing to do with me, to find solutions to problems that aren't mine. It means taking on the tasks of the gods themselves! The lazy bastards. Has anyone bothered to ask if I want to be a hero, hmm? No, not once. Not even Uriel asked, but he threw the burden on me anyway."

"Oh, don't play the victim," he shot back without hesitation. "Those who can, should. The Emperor was obviously correct in doing what he did – you and his son saved us all from the forces of Oblivion! Is it truly such a curse to be the beloved hero to so many people?"

When she said nothing for several long heartbeats, Thedret turned his face toward her. Her eyes were closed, but her forehead was wrinkled in a pinched frown as she lay still in her bedroll. For one painful moment, he thought she might cry. He scowled and turned to stare back into the fire when she chuckled low in her chest instead.

"I think you're just upset that I pinned you against the wall and had my way with you," she murmured, then laughed again under her breath.

Heat rose in Thedret's cheeks, and not just from anger. He very sternly reminded himself exactly what she had done to him in that moment – assaulted him and broken his trust in her. She could have killed him. Of course, had she straddled him like that in any other situation, it might not have been an unwelcome…

He shook his head firmly. By Julianos, he really was going insane.

"I guess I should be grateful that you didn't kill me," he heard himself mutter to cover for his bizarre thoughts.

"Or worse."

The malevolent grin on her face startled him and it took him a moment to puzzle out exactly what she meant by that. A chill crawled across his skin and his fingers rose impulsively to the unmarked spot on his throat where she had bitten him. "You…you didn't…you _couldn't_…"

"Of course I didn't," she smirked, though there was bitterness in her expression as well. "You think I want to turn you into a vampire? Feh, you're hard enough to deal with as it is. I can't even imagine the whining if I infected you. I'd never hear the end of it. But as to whether I could…" Her smile turned predatory. "Of course I _could_. I was given this gift and can do what I wish with it. What, did you think it was an accident?"

"I…" His mouth fell open and he simply stared at her. It had never occurred to him that someone could be purposely infected. Or, more specifically, than someone would _want_ to become a vampire intentionally. "You cannot be serious."

"How else do you think I was infected, hmm?" She lifted an eyebrow at him, her face amused despite the lines of exhaustion under her eyes. "It's not as though our race is prone to such diseases."

He could think of nothing to counter that, and simply stared at her in open astonishment. He had always assumed it had been an accident, out of her control. "Why?" he breathed. "Why would anyone seek such a thing? And to call it a _gift_…"

Elowyn's face hardened, her former bemusement going cold before she turned her eyes away from him to stare at the stars awakening overhead. "You wouldn't understand."

"Tell me anyway," he demanded, but his anger had faded into disbelief and an underlying edge of curiosity. Had something driven her to such a choice? Why would someone desire to become a wicked, bloodthirsty monster? It was an idea that truly baffled the man.

Elowyn's jaw worked. It was one of the very few times Thedret could remember seeing her openly upset, without any of the false bravado or jests she was so prone to use. It doubled his curiosity, but he did his best to remain silent and patient. And, he reminded himself, he was still very angry with her and in no way ready to entertain the notion of forgiving her violation of his trust.

"They took so much from me." Her voice barely reached him, and her eyes were staring at some distant point beyond him. "Everything. Over and over. Even in the arena, my life was not my own. My thoughts were not mine, my actions were for everyone but me."

Her eyes sharpened on his face for a moment, her expression cruel. "You think it's wonderful to be a _hero_. Hah. You know nothing of it. And once you get it, it will be too late to change it. A life of _sacrifice_. It sounds so glorious to you, I imagine. One person shouldn't have to fill that role. It's unjust. I felt…betrayed."

"Betrayed? By whom?" Thedret pressed softly as he shifted away from the fire to face her fully.

"By everyone," she growled, but as soon as she said the words she sighed and seemed to force herself to relax. "The people for expecting so much of me, the gods for throwing me between them and Mehrunes Dagon, the Blades and Martin for being so…_strong_. There was nothing he could not face, you know. And even though the burden ate away at him, he was never broken by it. Never even close to broken, even if he thought he was."

The sadness left her face, replaced by a cold, emotionless mask. "I resented them all. I gave them more than my life. That would have been easier, hmm? Do you know that there were times when I tried to die? When I tried to make a fatal mistake and get my head hacked off by a Xivilai just for the sake of never having to jump through another hoop for the Nine again? But I _always _survived." She laughed weakly, a sound that hitched and faded away into a sigh. "So, I guess I even blamed death itself. For running from me. I…why am I telling you this?"

She lapsed into silence as Thedret soaked up her words. A lot of her attitudes were starting to make sense to him now, though he still did not agree with them necessarily. "What does this have to do with becoming a vampire?" he eventually asked.

"Everything." She snorted out a rough laugh and stared up at the stars again. "I said you wouldn't understand. Since I couldn't find a way to die and escape, I wanted to _take_. Don't you see? In some form or another, I wanted to demand repayment for every lost moment, for every memory that might have been, for every sacrifice, for everyone I never got the chance to share a drink with or sleep with or fall in love with. Did you know heroes aren't allowed to love? It's true. Everyone they try to love, they lose. Watch and see.

"That's why I joined the Brotherhood in the first place. To take. Oh, don't look so scandalized – you already knew the truth."

Thedret blinked away his open-mouthed stare and cleared his throat. "Rumors are one thing," he quietly explained as he tried to calm his angry shock. "Confirmation is quite another thing entirely."

Her blankets shifted in what he assumed was a shrug, and her face remained impassive. "If you kill often enough, for long enough, it stops having meaning. Blood is blood, death is death, the line between good and evil fades. Then vanishes completely."

"It doesn't have to be like that. Is that how you justify murdering innocent men and women for profit?" Thedret demanded with a rigid frown.

"No one is innocent, Thedret," she sighed sadly. "I wanted revenge, plain and simple. No…perhaps not so simple. Or plain. I wanted _balance_. I wanted to topple that gods damned pedestal they put me on. The wide, all-encompassing 'they,' that is. I think I might have even been part of that equation. I let them put me there. I thought it was what I wanted...

"But in the end - if you can even call it an end - all I wanted my name tarnished, battered, _burned_ just so they would stop expecting everything from me. There's only so much _give_ a person can handle before they have to _take_."

"So you take their blood to feed your lust for vengeance." Though his anger had cooled a bit, Thedret's voice remained hard and uncompassionate. "You take the lives of people you've never met to sate some twisted sense of _justice_."

"Lives?" Elowyn scoffed. "Are _you_ dead? Did I take your life? You sure talk a lot for a corpse, hmm? I don't kill to take what I need, my Lord. Well…unless I'm planning to kill them anyway. Which only happens if they're planning to kill _me_ first. And then it would just be a waste to let all that blood go sour, wouldn't it, hmm?"

Thedret pondered that as he studied her face. It was still so hard for him to reconcile her different appearances – this attractive, average woman looking back at him, to the haggard beast he had first met, and then the twisted, damaged monster who had attacked him. And then her madness as well…which person was she? He had to bite his tongue to keep from asking the question aloud. He was sure he would not enjoy the answer.

As he stared, Elowyn's eyes grew unfocused and her heavy lids slowly shut. He wondered suddenly just how well he would have held up if he were the one cursed instead of her. "Get some rest," he sighed. "Tomorrow will be a long day."

"You have no idea," Elowyn muttered groggily, her eyes still shut. "Mmm…make sure you wake me well before dawn. Unless you want a repeat of this morning, hmm?"

After watching her drift off to sleep, Thedret lay back on his own bedroll and stared up at the stars, his mind lost in a madening loop of questions with no answers. For the first time in his life, he was envious of the followers of Sheogorath. Madness seemed so simple for them. What he would not trade for a good long stretch of "simple" in his life.


	40. Chapter 40

**A/N: **I really appreciate the reviews. :) I feel like I should probably give a warning that I'll be posting two more chapters after this one over the next two days, and then the updates will become somewhat sporadic. I've been slapped with a nasty cold, will be starting work on our new house in a few days, and have piles of stuff waiting to be shoveled into boxes for our big move. I'm getting my last reprieve today (it's my birthday, and my husband is taking the kids out so I can do whatever I want ;p), but I fully expect to have absolutely no time whatsoever after today for a few weeks.

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 40**

As they strode through Cheydinhal's western gate sometime after midmorning, the guard on duty spared Elowyn and Thedret a cold, calculating stare before he grunted an unfriendly greeting. As he returned to staring disinterestedly at the few people going about their business in the streets, Elowyn had to smile wryly to herself.

Cheydinhal was exactly as she had remembered it – a dirty, corrupt town filled with rude, suspicious commoners and doubly suspicious guards. The town had never truly felt like home to her, aside from one small part of it that would forever be "family" in her mind, but there were memories lurking on every filthy corner. She ducked her head and pulled her hood further over her eyes, then adjusted the weight of the wrapped sword tucked under her arm.

Thedret cast her a sidelong glance. "Are you feeling well?"

An aging man dressed in beggar's rags stumbled between them just then, muttering a drunken apology. Elowyn noticed an odd movement and she immediately covered her coin purse with one gloved hand and glared coldly at the would-be thief. His bloodshot eyes flickered to hers, and seeing her expression, the man blanched and scuttled away down the street as quickly as he could.

"Never better," Elowyn muttered to her companion. "I hadn't realized just how much I've missed this grimy cesspit."

Thedret replied with a short nod of acknowledgement. His dark eyes skipped from person to person, doorway to doorway as they followed the twisting road through town. He seemed nervous, one hand resting on the grip of his mace, her forehead furrowed in a frown as he watched for the barest hint of trouble. Elowyn had to wonder just how much of his moodiness had to do with her.

Since she had returned just before sunrise that morning from her feeding excursion, Thedret had been sullen and distant. Not that she blamed him, but there was something more to his behavior than she had expected. Instead of angry or spiteful or bitter, he seemed much more resigned and thoughtful, though she could not possibly guess at what might be going through his mind. Still, she told herself that she should be grateful that he was not abandoning her completely after all that had happened the last few days. Gods knew she would have abandoned herself were it possible, if only for a short time.

In silence, they crossed the two small bridges over the Corbolo River, passed the Riverview estate and entered the small courtyard in front of the Great Chapel of Arkay. Elowyn's eyes, however, were not on the chapel as they approached, but rather on the boarded up door of a ruined house opposite them. Thedret seemed unaware of Elowyn's distraction and strode purposefully past the central fountain as she lagged slightly behind.

It still stood, the same as it had for years. Even the broken windows were exactly as she remembered. She could not help but be curious about the well around the back, if it still remained, if her key would still work in the lock. What would the faces of the murderers who had taken the place of her last family look like?

_Put it behind you._

The last time she had heeded Lucien's instructions, she had never been able to forgive herself. But, in this case, she was fairly certain he was right. It did her no good to dwell on it. All it did was hurt, and she was dealing with enough hurt as it was.

As if the gods themselves wished to emphasize this point, Elowyn walked smack into Thedret's armored back at the top of the chapel stairs. The man had pushed open one of the tall doors, but his body blocked her view of the dim interior. Before she could fully voice her grunt of pain, the knight threw his arm wide and shoved her backward.

"It's a trap!" he cried as he struggled to free his mace and shield.

Elowyn wobbled on the edge of the top step before careening back to land with a bone-jarring _thump_ in the hard-packed dirt at the base of the stairs. The wrapped sword tumbled from her hands and rolled away from her, but she was too busy trying to recover from the screaming protest of her aching joints to do much more than lay still, gasping for air.

Thedret ducked back from the door as a massive golden axe swung in a lazy arc in front of him, but he barely managed to flip his shield up in time to sloppily block a second hard blow as a pair of Aurorans sprang from the darkness inside. Off balance, Thedret tumbled down the stairs to land with a grunt not far from Elowyn.

"Protect that sword," he growled to her as he rolled to his feet, his shield and mace finally settled properly within his grip. He threw himself at the closest daedra, the Mace of Zenithar caving the creature's head in before it even had a chance to ready itself.

Shouts echoed around the city behind them as guards came running toward the disturbance, but Elowyn feared they would not reach Thedret in time. At least a half-dozen Aurorans were already bearing down on him as he struggled desperately with two more enemies. Elowyn had never felt more exposed in all her life. She had no weapons, no armor, no spare potions to hold back the weariness of the curse. How could she have been such a fool to think they would find no resistance here? She wanted to strangle herself for being so distracted by the location itself. Instead, she muttered an incantation to herself as she backed away, taking the dusty sword with her and doing her best not to attract attention.

"Vika!" The Mazken glanced around with interest as she was summoned into the heated battle, but her eyes snapped to Elowyn the moment her Lord called her name. "Give me your bow _now_ then make yourself useful!"

Without the slightest hint of hesitation, the Dark Seducer snapped off her bow and quiver and threw them at Elowyn's feet before drawing her sword and leaping into the fray. The Mazken cackled as she sliced the throat of an Auroran about to strike Thedret in the back.

"Looks like I'm back to babysit you again, little male!" she taunted, spinning aside as another axe heaved toward her face. She hamstrung the beast and kicked in its throat with her steel-plated boots, flashing Thedret an unpleasant, gloating grin in the process. "I wonder what possible use you could be to my Lord that she keeps you around."

"More of our delightful friends are coming from the side doors!" Elowyn shouted to the guards as they neared. She lay the corrupted sword at her feet and stood one foot on it to make sure it would not go anywhere before shouldering the quiver and preparing the bow. "Don't let them flank us!"

She picked a target far separated from the rest, mostly for the safety of the friendlies in the area, took careful aim and let loose an arrow straight into the beast's throat. "Nice shot, my Lord!" Vika called out in encouragement as she squared off against two of her own marks.

"Ha!" Elowyn laughed in reply, lining up a shot for another Auroran. "I was aiming for his groin!"

Thedret's mace whistled dangerously close to the Mazken's head and smashed into the chest of a golden-skinned daedra that had attempted to sidle up behind her. "Who is watching out for whom, I wonder?" he chastised her, though he quickly lost his amusement as yet another axe swung their direction, nearly catching him in the teeth.

An arrow thumped into the side of the Auroran's head with a sickening wet sound. Both Vika and Thedret stared over at Elowyn as she chuckled to herself. "I think it's perfectly clear who is watching out for both of you, hmm?"

She started to raise the bow again, but something heavy smashed down upon her with such force that her legs buckled, sending her crashing to her knees with a startled cry. Pain so intense that it was almost instantly replaced by a cold numbness washed over her, and in a daze, she struggled to take a breath. The pounding thunder of her own heartbeat echoed in her ears.

"Elowyn!" Thedret cried out, even as Vika screamed, "No, my Lord!"

Something wet and hot and thick flowed down her right side. Confused, she twisted her head and stared uncomprehending at the place where her shoulder should have been. Her tunic had been ripped apart and stained crimson. A thick slab of blood-soaked flesh dangled from her upper arm, and she stared in wondrous fascination at the stark white bone exposed to the open air. _Her_ bone.

A part of her mind whispered that she should _do_ something, put herself back together, it was not proper to leave her limbs in pieces in public for all to see, but her body did not react to her commands as it should have. She ordered herself to breathe, but her lungs felt filled with cotton. At least her heart was still pounding, but it sounded somehow slower, dull, distant. Someone was shouting and hands reached for her…and then there was nothing but darkness.


	41. Chapter 41

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 41**

Thedret paced the length of the room over and over, his eyes flickering repeatedly to the unmoving form on the small bed nearby. She was breathing, she was alive, but it had been a close thing and he was worried and anxious that she had yet to regain consciousness.

How could he not have noticed the enormous, golden daedra sweeping around her flank? It did not ease his guilt to know that her summoned minion had obviously not noticed the creature as well. Not until the massive axe had cleaved downward into Elowyn's shoulder, that is. The blade had shorn muscle from bone, leaving a gory, mangled flap of flesh dangling from her exposed humerus, though the Auroran had probably intended to take off the entire arm. Whatever its plans had been, Thedret was happy to end them by snapping its neck with a well-placed but desperate swing of his mace.

The next few moments were a blur in his mind even now. Elowyn had collapsed, her blood pooling on the hard packed earth, and Thedret had sprinted for the chapel, shouting, hoping, _praying_ that the healer inside was not already dead. By some miracle, he was wounded but alive, and the odd Nord had managed to put Elowyn back together, though the healing was only partial as the man had many others to attend to. Hours later, as she rested in one of the beds below the main chapel, Elowyn had yet to wake from what appeared to be a deep sleep.

Thedret stop pacing and ran a haggard hand over his bleary eyes. He should have been resting, he knew it, but he could not bring himself to sit still. It was not so much that she had been injured, as it was that she had been so badly injured while things were so poor between them. He felt guilty that he had been so cold to her that morning, and the guilt made him angry because he had every right to be upset with her. She had attacked him! So why would the guilt not go away?

His eyes fell on the wrapped sword at the foot of her bed. He had considered attempting to ask Arkay to bless the blade himself instead of waiting for Elowyn, but he had decided against it. Not only was it her duty, as the gods had chosen her as their champion, but there was something else he struggled with…something dark…something like _doubt_.

It was not as though he had never questioned the motives of the Nine before, but this was somehow different. Elowyn was not devoted to them in any way, defiant even to the point of blasphemous, yet they had given her this task. According to the Prophet, Umaril could cause untold death and destruction, even so far as to threaten the Nine themselves, yet at every turn the gods seemed determined to hinder Elowyn's efforts. Mauled by a bear, struck with a curse, and now this? How much was she expected to suffer before the Nine would allow her to do their will? It seemed insane when he thought about it too long. And against his will, it seemed, he was beginning to understand her more and more.

He bent over her bed to study her sleeping face. In the dim candlelight, she looked pale and sallow, her cheeks sunken in and her eyes edged by weary lines. Even her slightly parted lips looked dry and thin. When she woke, she would surely be exhausted and in need of blood. The thought made him both concerned and outraged in confusing turns. How could he both care for someone and detest the very essence of their being at the same time?

Unthinking, he reached out and gently ran his finger down the deep scar on the right side of her face. It split her brow and left a vertical furrow in the flesh of her cheek, but it was faded and obviously quite old. He found himself wondering where she had earned that mark, and the many others that marred her skin. He wanted to call her selfish for the confession she had made to him the night before, about wanting to be repaid for all the sacrifices she had made. But for some reason, the word sat awkward with him.

Of course she would choose that moment to stir, her eyes flickering as she let out a weak groan. Thedret jerked his fingers away from her face and tried to look casual as he sat on the opposite bed to watch the woman slowly rouse herself. She tried to turn over, but winced and settled for shifting her head slowly until her detached gaze finally found him. Something like relief flickered across her features.

Her voice came out in a quiet rasp. "That whole line about women needing their 'beauty sleep'? It's a _vast_ exaggeration. Possibly a conspiracy even."

Thedret shook his head and offered the woman one of the three remaining restorative potions sitting on the small table between the beds. She took the bottle but waved him off when he offered his help, her shoulders trembling as she sat up just enough to drink the bland brew without choking. She sighed and flopped back on the bed, handing the empty bottle back to him. Her eyes slid shut, her brow furrowed with lines of pain.

"What it is?" he asked, wondering if they had missed some other injury.

She shook her head and cleared her throat a few times. "Bad dreams," she murmured with a last firm shake before she opened her eyes again. "What happened? And…" she frowned down at the thin blanket covering her, "why am I naked?"

Thedret shifted in discomfort. "One of the Aurorans slipped past the guards. You took an axe to the shoulder and nearly bled out, but the chapel healer managed to put you back together. For the most part. Your tunic, I'm afraid, did not survive."

Clutching the blanket to her chest, Elowyn sat up and scooted to sit with her back against the headboard. "What time is it?"

"I…" Thedret hesitated and tried to recall just how long he had been pacing. "It's probably past midnight, I suppose."

She twisted to get a good look at her repaired shoulder, her fingers tracing the raw, jagged edge of the fresh scars while she flexed and rolled the joints of the arm. "Well, that's a first. Seems like everything is in its proper place," she commented, then her mouth twisted into a wry smile. "That's a real beauty, isn't it? From a certain angle, it looks like my entire arm was taken off. That'll make for quite a bragging right, hmm?"

"The scarring could not be helped," was Thedret's simple reply, but in his mind he wondered how a man was supposed to properly respond to such a thing. "The healer did his best…"

Elowyn's soft chuckle cut him off. "It doesn't bother me. Gods know I have more than my share already." She rolled her head to either side, sighing in satisfaction as her joints gave off a series of _pops_. "What's another one, hmm?"

"You do have quite an impressive number," he observed, then cringed as he chided himself for even saying such a thing. Not only could she translate it as criticism, but she might also think he had spent more time than necessary studying her bare body. Which he most certainly had not, despite the opportunities.

He was over-thinking things, he realized with a touch of disgust at himself.

"Yes, well, that's what happens when a person believes bludgeoning others to death in front of a roaring crowd is a good way to make a living, hmm? Besides," her eyes went distant, their crimson depths soft with some fragile emotion that was laced with sadness, "I think they're beautiful in some way. Like my life's story is written on my skin." She laughed faintly, looking almost embarrassed. "Is that strange?"

Before he could summon an answer, she laughed again. "Ah, never mind. Find me something to wear. Unless you'd like me to walk around bare-chested." She grinned as he colored and rose to his feet to retrieve her pack from the corner. "Or was that your dastardly plan all along, hmm? Let my arm nearly be cleaved off just so you can get a good look at me? You could have just asked. Then I wouldn't have had to bleed all over the place."

Thedret stiffened in offense though he knew she was teasing, and as he deposited her belongings beside the smirking woman, he frowned down at her. "I would never wish you harm, most certainly not for my own benefit."

Elowyn let out a tired sigh and did not respond, and Thedret was surprised to find that he felt somewhat disappointed by the lack of returned banter. As she bent to rifle through her messy pack for fresh clothing, he turned his back to her to give her privacy, but he was not sure if he should leave the room.

"We'll see what we can do about convincing Arkay to reconsecrate the sword first and foremost," she said in between rustles of fabric. "With that done, we should return to the Priory at once to wait for our next objective. I assume the Nine have some sort of plan. Hah, optimistic of me, hmm? So we'll leave immediately. Unless you need rest…?"

"No," Thedret replied with a sharp shake of his head. "I…will rest better elsewhere."

Elowyn grunted something that sounded like an agreement. "I'll have to feed before we leave the city," she said in a cautious, almost warning tone. "You probably won't want to be around for that. Considering what happened last time…"

Thedret nodded stiffly. "I'll ready the horses and wait for you at the west gate if that is acceptable."

"As you would have it, Sir Thedret," she said softly. He could not help but wonder why he felt so disappointed by the resignation in her tone.


	42. Chapter 42

**A/N: **Okay, this will be the last chapter for a couple of weeks most likely. I want to finish writing the last of the story completely before I start posting again, and with real life going crazy starting this weekend, it might take me a while to get back into the flow of things. Thanks again for the reviews, and see you all soon! ^_^

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 42**

"You're back! Hah, they're back! Wake up you lazy louts!"

Geimund's shouts could have woken the dead, and if not that then his massive fist pounding the doorframe of the Priory front doors would surely have done the trick. Hopefully before he brought the whole building down. Elowyn wondered idly if the spirit knights below ground could hear him, and if they were bothered by the ruckus. She hoped it was true on both counts.

The courtyard was soon filled with half-dressed, half-asleep knights, all talking over each other in the chill early morning air.

"You've done it!"

"The sword!"

"We have all we need now!"

Elowyn managed a weak smile at their enthusiasm, though she could not make out more than a few words of what each was saying. The ride had taken a toll on her, especially since the last potion had worn off nearly an hour before. Her body screamed for sleep as the curse pressed down on her with an almost painful intensity, and the encouraging words of her knights seemed to come through a haze of sleepiness and achy muscles.

"Welcome home, my Lady!" Geimund bellowed with a wide smile as he hauled Elowyn from her saddle before she was even given a chance to ask for help. She had to clutch at his arms with trembling fingers to keep from toppling into the dirt, but he seemed blithely unaware of her discomfort. "You have brought the sword! The final artifact…I can't believe the time has finally come!"

Elowyn attempted to hide her weariness under a mumbled greeting, her tired eyes begging to be allowed to close and shut out the brightness of the newly rising sun. Thedret extracted her from the exuberant Nord's embrace as soon as he was off his own horse, sending the whole lot of them a chastising frown. Feet stumbling over one another, Elowyn let herself be urged toward the open doors of the Priory as the knights fell silent, her mind already half-asleep at the promise of her bed now so near.

"She needs rest," the Redguard man practically snarled as he wrapped one arm around her shoulders to support her. It was not a normal gesture for him, and under different circumstances, she would have seized the opportunity to tease him mercilessly. Then again, she thought wryly, in any other situation, he probably would not have made the move in the first place.

"No, no, no!" Carodus was suddenly blocking their way, his expression both excited and distressed. His face was grizzled with three-day-old stubble and his hair protruded from his head in amusing little spikes. Another missed opportunity for teasing, Elowyn lamented wearily to herself. "He said you must come see him the moment you arrive. Said it several times, in fact." He scowled. "Made us repeat it back to him even, like we're too simple to understand basic instructions."

"Who?" Thedret demanded, but then he shook his head adamantly before the Imperial could answer. "No, never mind. I don't care who it is. This woman has been through enough and she deserves a chance to recover before anything more is asked of her. So unless it's Umaril himself, get out of the way."

His cold, commanding tone roused Elowyn from her stupor, if only slightly. Curious, she tilted her head to look up at Thedret's fierce, stubborn face, and when he met her gaze from the corner of his eye, something softened in his expression for the briefest moment. A strange sense of something not exactly like gratitude washed over her as he tightened his grip on her shoulders.

"But…" Brellin shifted nervously from foot to foot, his eyes darting from one Redguard to the other. "The Prophet…he said…"

"The Prophet?" Elowyn and Thedret demanded in tandem, though the man's startled voice eclipsed her weak rasp. "He is here?"

Avita chuckled softly under her breath. "That is what we've been trying to tell you. He awaits the Champion within the chapel."

Thedret frowned thoughtfully and glanced down at the woman leaning heavily against him. "No," he shook his head again, "whatever he has to say can wait. She…"

"Child." Avita touched his arm gently and gave him a motherly smile. "Have faith. Take her to the Prophet."

"You know," Elowyn mumbled, though she had no idea if her words were clear enough to be understood since her tongue felt thick and heavy in her mouth, "I'm standing right here. I do so love it when people pretend I'm not around and go on talking about me and making decisions for me as though…"

"Enough," Thedret cut her off with a scowl. Irritation and impatience laced his every word, and she was abruptly reminded that he had not slept properly for several days. "What do _you _wish to do, my Lady."

"Hmm…go to sleep right here in the dirt, my Lord? Maybe never get up again?" At his bland stare, she sighed and leaned harder against him, looping her arm around his waist for better support. She poked her fingers between the gaps of his armor, jabbing his ribs, and she felt a little smug twinge when he twitched at the contact. She mentally filed away the knowledge that he was ticklish and attempted to focus on the moment. "Fine, fine, take me to the Prophet already. I'm sure he's frothing at the mouth with impatience."

Thedret grunted something unpleasant, but changed their direction to head toward the chapel, the rest of the knights crowding around them or dashing ahead to open the doors. "A real knight," Elowyn strained out after a few stumbling steps, "would carry the wounded damsel in distress."

She let out a startled gasp when the man supporting her suddenly bent and swept his arm beneath the back of her knees, pulling her up and off her feet. He adjusted his grip and cradled her against the hard contours of his breastplate as she floundered weakly for a moment before clinging to his neck.

"Am I a real knight now?" he ground out dryly as he started toward the chapel again without looking at her.

"I…" Elowyn chuckled weakly and rest her cheek against the cool steel of his armor. "My hero. You're stronger than you look."

"And you're heavier than you look," he grunted.

She smiled to herself and let her eyes slide shut. "Just when I'm convinced there's absolutely no hope for you, you have to go and do something crazy." Elowyn could not be sure, but she thought she heard him laugh under his breath.

The inside of the chapel was warm and dimly lit with a few candles, making it even harder for Elowyn not to submit to the insistent call of sleep. She groaned and stubbornly refused to open her eyes when Thedret lowered her feet to the floor in front of the small altar. One arm still slung around his neck, she leaned sideways against his armored chest and let him support her. His hand felt warm and comforting against the small of her back, even through the cloth.

"Ah, you return child." The Prophet spoke softly, intruding upon her moment of peace, and with a frown of annoyance, Elowyn forced her eyes open and twisted her head his direction. He regarded the two of them with a small, smug smile. "Welcome home."

"Can we get on with this?" she growled. "I have a whole mess of beauty sleep waiting for me."

The old man turned away from them and brushed the tips of his fingers along the edge of the altar basin, his expression calm and reverent. "There will be time for that later."

"Surely you don't expect her to rush off after Umaril right away," Thedret demanded with another stubborn frown. "We may have all the artifacts, but she is hardly…"

"But you do_ not_ have all the artifacts." The chapel went very still at the Prophet's flat statement. He cast a stern look around at the confused, startled knights. "If your Champion faces Umaril now," he declared loudly, "she will only get as far as Pelinal Whitestrake was ever able to go. The Unfeathered would be pushed back, delayed, but never truly defeated. He will rise again and he will bathe the lands in blood once more. I will only be a matter of time."

"So…what, then?" Elowyn hissed, trying to fight back the exhausted, frustrated tears that lined her eyes. Why could he have not let her rest before such a dire declaration? The confused murmurs of her knights somewhere behind them made her even angrier. They had put their trust in the gods, in _her_, and for what? To be told that it was pointless?

"What sacrifice must I make now, hmm? Must I lose a limb? I very nearly did yesterday – perhaps I thwarted the Nine's intentions by recovering, hmm? Is it another curse? Must I face Umaril naked? Shave my head bald? Tell me, my dear _Prophet_! What _more_ can I give?"

She trembled as she spat the angry words, and the man holding her embraced her a little more tightly, as if trying to convey his support without words. The Prophet, however, only shook his head and smiled with a forlorn kindness in his eyes. "What was once Eight is now Nine." His voice came out low but firm with authority. "What was lacking has been provided."

Elowyn shook her head in confusion and shifted to rest her back against Thedret's chest so she could face the old Imperial fully. "What in Oblivion are you babbling about?"

Before the Prophet could answer, Thedret murmured softly, "Tiber Septim. Talos."

"The might of the Eight plus One shall overthrow the Ayleid usurper through the strength of the gods' chosen Vessel." The Prophet turned from the altar, his hands cupped before him as if he cradled something in his palms though Elowyn could see nothing. The old man closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. "By the command of the Nine, take the Blessing of Talos, child, and bring peace and safety to these lands. Do what Pelinal could not and end this conflict once and for all time."

He raised his hands over her head and released them as though he was pouring water over her head, and though she frozen with anticipation, she felt nothing. She started to smirk and form a sharp retort at the absurd display and the impotence of the gods, when something cold trickled down her spine. She stiffened and let out a sharp gasp as her aching muscles suddenly seized up, sharp prickles of…_something_ pressing against the entire surface of her skin beneath her clothing. She heard Thedret's voice, felt his hands still holding her up, but a dull ringing flooded her ears.

Every curse-worn sense she had was suddenly sharpened, painfully so, and she was sure she cried out as the strange surge of power flowed through her. A white light pulsed behind her eyes and she was almost certain she heard whispered voices tickling against her ears, voices that could not belong to anyone living. Her skin burned with a cold fire, every nerve humming with sensations. Then, just as suddenly as it had struck, the torrent of feelings vanished, leaving the woman panting, limp and fully supported by Thedret's arms around her waist.

"What have you done to her?" the knight demanded. Elowyn's head lolled against his shoulder, her back pressed painfully hard against the ridges of the front of his armor as she let out a weary groan. His voice tickled against her ear, his worry palpable. "Are you alright?"

"Why…" she cleared her throat sharply, annoyed by the way her voice wavered and shook weakly. "Why do people always ask that when the answer is painfully obvious? Yes, of course…I'm…perfectly fine."

Somewhere behind them, someone snorted and muttered, "She sounds normal to me."

"I...heard that," she mumbled, but she felt dizzy and out of sorts. As a familiar darkness crept over her mind, she could not help but wonder how many times she had ended up unconscious recently. Apparently, she noted wryly as he mind clouded over, there would be at least one more time to add to the count.


	43. Chapter 43

**A/N: **Let the madness continue. ^_^

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.

* * *

**Chapter 43**

Thedret let out a long breath, wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm then raised the worn hammer above his head in one leather-bound fist. With a stuttering _t-ting_ of metal on metal, the tool collided with the red-hot blade he held pinned against the anvil, the sound familiar and soothing to the Redguard. Over and over the action repeated, the sound echoed, the muscles of his shoulder rolled and tightened in an almost hypnotic fashion. He could forget everything while standing at the forge, working beside Sergius, and the world was reduced to nothing aside from that hammer, that weapon being formed by his hand. A world of repetition, consistency…order.

An unbidden jolt of worry made him wonder if Elowyn was awake yet.

The cadence was abruptly lost, the rhythm thrown off by the slightest hesitation caused by his wayward thought, and with a whispered curse the Redguard hit the blade with an awkward blow. He scowled down at the dented metal, aware of Sergius' thoughtful gaze on him.

"Something on your mind, son?"

Thedret returned the damaged blade to the forge and stared into the hot glow within, his eyes distant and distracted. "I'm sure the other knights are just as burdened," he answered mildly. "It's an anxious time for us all."

"True enough." The older Imperial set down the freshly sharpened axe he had been working on for some time and wiped his hands on his filthy apron. "I suppose if there's any proper time to worry about something, now would be it."

The Redguard nodded his slow, distracted assent. It had been hours since Elowyn had fainted in his arms in the chapel that morning, and despite the last several days with virtually no sleep to speak of, he had been unable to rest since the incident. The Prophet had assured them all that she would be fine – "more than fine" was his actual enigmatic proclamation– but it did little to ease the tension in the Priory all that day. Thedret had been grateful for the distraction provided by the simple act of working at the smithy, but now it seemed this was not enough to keep his mind from returning to the one thing, the one _person_, he wanted to block out the most.

"There's no shame in worrying, Thed." Sergius startled the younger man out of his thoughts with a gentle rebuke. "Or caring about someone, for that matter."

"I'm not having this conversation with you," Thedret warned with a stern but noticeably uncomfortable glance.

The Imperial raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Hey, now, I'm just making small talk. Something wrong with that?"

"Don't give me that, old man," he halfheartedly joked, though he wished Sergius would simply leave him be and spare them both the entire scene. "I know you well enough."

"Hmph. I think you're being just a tad defensive. Feeling guilty about something, are you?"

"There's no point in discussing something that…didn't I just say I'm not having this conversation with you?"

"Fine then." Sergius crossed his thick arms over his chest and stared squarely at the Redguard. "Who _will_ you have this conversation with, then?"

"Sergius."

"No, don't give me that look. I swear I know you better than you know yourself sometimes." He leveled a chastising frown at the younger man, who did his best not to look as annoyed as he felt. "You know, the lads told me something happened between you and Miss Demark while you were out gallivanting around. Not that that was news, really. We'd expected it for a while now."

"Yes, I heard about that little bet you lot had going," Thedret sniped, somewhat gratified by the sudden but fleeting guilt in his old friend's expression. "Nice to know you're watching out for me."

"Bah, it was harmless fun, Thedret. But never mind that. The lads seemed to be under the impression that your little cozy moment was something more than it seemed."

"More like something _other_ than what it seemed," Thedret snapped before he thought better of it, and Sergius' shrewd expression made him cringe internally.

"Then what was it?" the Imperial demanded.

Thedret's jaw flexed in frustration. The other man could not understand just how he longed to share his burden with someone, especially the man who was something like a father to him, but he could not, and he knew it. And that only made it harder.

"It was nothing," he ground out stubbornly. "Nothing you need be concerned with."

"Aye?" The Imperial shook his head in disappointment and began to absently tidy up the work area around the smithy. "Well, I _am_ concerned. We all are. Which is exactly why this sort of thing should be out in the air instead of secreted away like something foul!"

"But secrets _are_ foul, hmm?" Both men gave a visible start as Elowyn emerged from the stairs through the open door. She looked alert and rested, though her braids were frazzled and her tunic rumpled from sleep. She eyed the pair of them with an air of bemusement before she spoke again. "By their very definition, secrets are rotten, evil little things that can rend a family in twain or topple a vast empire…or grow a rift in an order of knights too wide to cross. Such silly little things, really."

Sergius looked to be at a loss for words, but Thedret heard himself blurt out in surprise, "You're awake."

Elowyn's eyebrows lifted a notch and she looked down at herself appraisingly, arms held away from her sides. "Why, it does appear that way, doesn't it? Fascinating."

Fighting back a frown, Thedret pressed, "How long have you been up? I asked them to let me know when…"

"A few hours," she cut in. "I told them not to bother you."

Thedret's jaw clenched at the calculating look she gave him. He had no doubt that she was aware of his concern for her, for the entire _situation_, and yet she had left him to worry for hours more than necessary. As a matter of pride, however, he refused to admit it out loud.

"Well…" she said after an uncomfortable silence, "I didn't mean to interrupt your male bonding time. Judging by your expressions, it's probably good that I didn't come down here sooner." She paused expectantly, but when Sergius only cleared his throat and Thedret held up his flat stare, she shrug and faced the Imperial.

"I came down to your lair because of the armor. The Crusader's Armor, that is. Obviously. It'll need to be fitted to me because apparently I'll have to wear the ugly mess to put down our dear Umaril."

"Already done," Sergius informed her with a firm nod. "I took the liberty of starting some weeks back, as a matter of fact."

Elowyn blinked, clearly surprised by this news. "I see. Should I even ask how you learned my measurements? Having Thedret _feel up_ the situation, hmm?"

Thedret hated that his stony expression was obviously offset by a tinge of embarrassment, for both Elowyn and Sergius seemed amused when they glanced at him. "Nay, my Lady," the Imperial answered in a mostly serious tone. "Don't forget, I've handled your armor before."

"Ah, of course. How silly of me."

"The young lad here also took the time to adjust the sword as well." Thedret turned his disapproving look on the older man, but Sergius pretended not to notice. "He balanced it to match that big wicked thing you always use…?"

"Dawnfang," she supplied to answer his questioning look, though she was now studying Thedret appraisingly. "Or Duskfang. Depending on when you ask it. It has a bit of a split personality. And some confidence issues. It only feels best about itself when it gets to kill a dozen people in as many hours. You can see why I'm fond of it."

Sergius shook his head and chuckled, probably only half comprehending her ramblings, and retrieved the Sword of the Crusader from a nearby shelf. "It should feel almost the same as your usual weapon, so it'll be a sight easier for you to adjust to it. He did a damned fine job of it, I must say."

Elowyn picked up the blade, shifting her grip several times before twisting her wrist and giving it an experimental twirl. She looked pleased, and Thedret could not help but soften his expression when she met his eyes. "Thank you," she murmured with genuine sentiment.

Despite still feeling a slight bruising to his pride for what he perceived was a flippant attitude toward his concern for her, Thedret was undeniably warmed by her gratitude. "My pleasure," he answered quietly.

The woman returned the sword to the blacksmith. "The Prophet says he will not reveal our next move until tomorrow evening," she explained to them both as she moved slowly toward the stairs back up to the main floor. "He insists that we all rest before 'what is to come.' Whatever that means. I assume it'll involve me bleeding a lot, hmm? So, until tomorrow mid afternoon, you are ordered to do absolutely nothing."

Sergius nodded, and Thedret asked, "Have you told the rest of the knights?"

"Yes," she said as she paused in the doorway and smirked. "Geimund is already passing around the ale. It's a…pre-victory victory celebration, I believe he said." Her eyes sparkled with amusement at his slight frown. "Care to dance with me on the table again, Sir Thedret?"

Eyes narrowed, he tilted his head to one side. "I might have to do just that," he answered in complete seriousness, obviously surprising the woman because she laughed merrily. Shaking her head, she made her way back up the stairs, leaving Thedret grinning faintly at the empty doorway. When he turned around, Sergius was staring at him with a smug look, his arms crossed over his chest.

"What?" Thedret demanded with a defensive edge to his tone.

The Imperial shook his head and turned back toward the forge. "'Something other than what it seems' my ass."


	44. Chapter 44

**A/N:** Thanks for reviews. :)

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 44**

Elowyn stepped out into the darkness, turning her face up to admire the beautiful moons hanging high overhead. Behind her, the sounds of friendly chatter and laughter within the Priory made her smile. They had swapped stories and drunk themselves silly and sang terrible songs for several hours, and hopefully soon the lot of them would straggle off to sleep. It was the stillness before the storm, she knew it for certain, but she was not about to ruin it with idle worry, and she was glad that her knights seemed content to put their cares aside for a time as well.

Something stirred in the dark field beyond the courtyard, a large form writhing and twisting in the dusty grass, and Elowyn had to laugh aloud as she went out to investigate. Shadowmere was satisfying some tormenting itch by squirming on her back in the patchy field, looking utterly ridiculous as her long legs flailed in the air above her. Hearing Elowyn's approach, the mare sat up and shook her head vigorously, dirt and grass flying from her mane, but the horse made no move to stand.

"You silly thing," the Redguard chided with a wide smile as she knelt at the horse's side. When she patted Shadowmere's normally sleek hide, little plumes of dust rose up between her fingers, curling in the eerie light provided by the moons and stars. "You're filthy! Now none of the stallions will chase you around seeking your hand…hoof…ah, whatever. We both know they're only after one thing anyway."

The mare gave a high, breathy whiney and nuzzled Elowyn's neck and shoulders, making her laugh again. Obviously the horse was in high spirits. "You can sense it, can't you?" she murmured as she affectionately scratched around the beast's ears. "That I'm feeling better, that there will be battle soon…that this will _end_ soon." She sighed and turned around to press her back against the side of the mare's smooth belly. "Soon cannot come soon enough, hmm?"

As Shadowmere seemed content to let her recline there, Elowyn reached up and began to undo her braids one at a time, rebraiding each one into an almost painfully tight row before moving on the next. Her eyes drifted frequently across the sky overhead, tracing the flowing patterns of the pale stars. Perhaps they were not as plain as she had once thought them to be, she mused to herself. She was certain she would remember otherwise once she was back in the Isles.

A chill wind blew across her skin, cool even by her standards, and it reminded her that winter would come soon to these lands. She could not bring herself to feel sad at the knowledge that she would not be around to see the first snow. It was long past time she returned…even if there were things here that she would miss. She missed the Isles far more than anything she had here, she told herself sternly.

A shadow moved across the light coming from the doorway of the Priory, a man's form emerging into the night. She knew his shape the moment she spotted him, a realization that made her frown to herself. Still, she knew his eyes could not see with the same ease as her own and she doubted he had any idea she and the mare were even out in the field. He probably thought she was out hunting. Strangely, she could not decide if she wanted him to find her or not...another thought that made her frown.

He stood still for a moment, turning his face upward to study the sky. Her fingers grew still, holding one braid half-finished as she watched him. He stepped into the courtyard, tilting his face from side to side in a sweeping examination of the area. He froze when his eyes swiveled her direction, obviously trying to determine what the large, dark shape in the grasses was. Chucking to herself, Elowyn decided to let him figure it out for himself and returned to her braiding and stargazing. A moment later, she heard footsteps rustling toward her.

"Play nice," the vampire murmured to her horse, but surprisingly the mare was ignoring both her and the man approaching. Her neck was stretched out to one side, her face angled so that she could take leisurely nips at the grass growing nearby. Elowyn snorted in amusement at the silly display as Thedret came to a stop a few feet from them.

"Checking up on me?" she asked after a brief silence, her eyes still admiring the soft shine of Shadowmere's mane in the pale moonlight.

"I wanted to make sure you're well," he answered softly, his voice very measured as if he were choosing his words with great care.

"What you mean to say is," Elowyn chuckled as her eyes finally made their way to his shadowed face, "you were making sure I hadn't vanished again, hmm?

He frowned, his eyes narrowing just a touch. "I wanted to make sure you're well," he repeated stubbornly, with only a shade more force in his tone. That impatient edge she was so used to hearing was already creeping in.

"Did Geimund try to drag another tale out of you, is that it?" she pressed, genuinely amused by both his irritation and his sincerity. She reached up to tug at another braid, but she kept watching his reaction. "Did you flee from another tawdry drunken ballad? You have a lovely singing voice, you know."

His jaw twitched almost imperceptibly in the darkness, but her keen senses picked up on it. "Elowyn..."

"Oh, my…" the woman's tone dripped with scandal. "Did Avita try to charm you into her bed with her sultry ways, hmm? I've hear the old girl's a wild one when it comes to…"

"Elowyn!" he snapped just as Shadowmere flicked her head around toward the woman and nosed her roughly enough to topple her over sideways. Thedret made a sound that resembled a laugh-turned-cough.

"Tough crowd," Elowyn huffed in mock indignation, though she was grinning widely as she straightened up and dusted off her tunic.

Thedret sighed, but despite any lingering annoyance, he folded his legs beneath him and sat opposite her. He had become quite the glutton for punishment, she thought to herself. "Can't you please be serious for this one moment?" he implored.

The way he spoke, with such deliberate patience and concern, made her throat feel suddenly dry. "That would go against my very nature and everything I believe in," she quipped, though her tone was softened and she wondered if he could hear the true meaning behind the words. Thedret seemed to relax slightly at the gentle teasing, and Elowyn turned her focus to the last of her braids. "I'm fine. The curse is lifted, and," mockery laced her tone, "praise Talos, I've been blessed! Hah, worry not, my dear knight. I am as well as I've ever been."

"I'm glad to hear it," he replied with a faint nod.

"So serious," she chuckled.

His wove his fingers through the grass in front of him, his face downcast so that she could make out little more than vague shadows of his features. He seemed thoughtful, perhaps pensive. "You have enough levity for both of us," his eyes flickered up to meet hers, a faint smile tugging the corners of his mouth.

"So you are my counter then, hmm?" she murmured, staring up at the stars again. She found it difficult to keep eye contact with him right then for some reason. "Balance." Laughing softly, she added, "That strikes quite an intimate tone, Sir Thedret. Careful."

The man studied her, but said nothing. She had to wonder how much he could even see in the dimness, and she found herself trying to remember what the night had looked like through human eyes. The very presence of the thought was enough to settle her mind on something she had debated for several days.

"Here." She opened one of the many pouches on her belt and retrieved a small flask from within. Thedret frowned questioningly as she handed it to him.

Turning the vial over in one hand, he studied the thick, scratched glass and the murky, mysterious liquid within. The bottle bore no markings of any kind, though the worn appearance and aging seal indicated it was quite old. "What is this?" he asked after a moment.

Elowyn smiled thinly. "A cure."

He shook his head. "For?"

"For what ails me, of course," she laughed. "For vampirism."

She heard his breath catch in his throat, his eyes instantly fixed on the flask again with a thunderstruck expression that made her chuckle to herself. It was the reaction she had expected.

"You…you have a _cure_?" he breathed. When she confirmed this with a nod, he floundered for his next words. "I…._how_? How do you…where…_why_…?"

She held her hand up to stall his questions, and he fell silent, his eyes wide and stunned as he stared at her in disbelief. Under other circumstances, she would have found it amusing to see him so out of sorts, but she knew something heavy was in the balance now. She could not shake the feeling that this was important, _vital_ even, and it was so ridiculously crazy that she knew better than to ignore the impulse.

"I'll make this as short and sweet as I'm able," she assured him. "Years ago, I met someone seeking a cure. I was young at the time – only a few months in my new body – and a part of me still wondered if I'd made the best choice. So…I sought the cure, for him and for myself. And after jumping through hoops for a bitter old witch for a while, I found it. The _cure_." She trailed off, frowning down at her hands resting in her lap. "But I never felt the need to use it. Even in the worst of times. And times have been bad occasionally, believe me."

Thedret had managed to regain the bulk of his composure after the initial shock wore off. He studied the bottle, his brow wrinkled in a concerned scowl. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked very quietly, his voice bearing faint hints of accusation. She had been expecting that as well.

"Your gods chose me," she began to explain without preamble. "I renounced them after Martin…after his defeat of Mehrunes Dagon. And I didn't do it in some half-hearted fashion either, hmm? No, I desecrated several shrines…in some rather _colorful_ ways. And rather enjoyed myself.

"I later fled to the lands of a Daedric Prince and embrace a beautiful life in His realm. You know, the Shivering Isles is the only thing in my life I've ever considered a blessing. The Nine called me back here, put me into this position knowing full well what I am, and," she pointed at the vial in his hand, "that I could unbecome it should I so desire. But I don't desire it, and it was never asked of me. I know now it never will be asked of me."

He was silent, his eyes on the grass as he digested her words. "Your point is," he ground out with obvious reluctance, "that I should accept you as well. Is that it?"

She laughed faintly, rolling her head back to stare up at the moons. A shooting star traced a brilliant path across the sky. "Thedret, if you ask it of me, I will drink that potion right here, right now."

His face snapped up as she dropped her chin down to regard him again, his eyes bright with surprise as she studied him calmly even as her heartbeat thundered in her chest. "What?" he demanded. "I…I don't understand. Why would you…?"

"To prove your gods wrong," she laughed with a rueful shake of her head, and she told herself firmly that this was indeed her _only_ reason for such a statement. Any other reason to put her future in his hands was madness…even for her, and she dismissed the thought as idle silliness. "Because if I drink that, I will not be the same person they chose to complete this. Not in the slightest." She laughed again. "And because I've forgotten how it is to survive as a human – and I will probably get myself killed within moments of meeting Umaril. Then the gods' failure will be complete, hmm? Who then will save you? Will Arkay or your beloved Julianos descend to interfere, do you think?"

Thedret glared at the cure then at her smirking face. "You would really go so far to spit in the face of the Nine?" he demanded with disappointment and rebuke in his tone. It surprised her to realize how much she hated hearing him speak to her that way. "Risk your life, _all our lives_, the possibility of Umaril's victory, the destruction of Tamriel – all of that on the line just to satisfy your own _bitterness_?"

Elowyn's bemused expression did not fade in the slightest. "Certainly. Or perhaps I'm just testing you," she murmured, studying his reaction through narrowed eyes.

Frowning, Thedret abruptly leaned forward to drop the vial into her lap. He stood stiffly and dusted off his backside, staring coolly down at Elowyn for a silent moment. "I thought I'd proven myself already," he all but growled. "Good evening, my Lady."

Startled, Elowyn stared after his retreating form until he disappeared back inside the Priory. Shadowmere shifted and nipped at the sheave of her tunic. "I know," Elowyn sighed as she stroked the mare's velvet nose. "I'm terrible with people. I should just stick to horses. And Mazken." She sighed again, this time with a mournful, longing undercurrent. "If only he were a madman…I don't suppose you'd be willing to roll over atop me and put me out of my misery. No? A pity, that."


	45. Chapter 45

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 45**

Thedret woke to a throbbing headache firmly gripping the front of his head, like clawed fingers digging into the soft tissue behind his eyes and jabbing at his brain. Groaning, he buried his face in the coarse fabric of his pillow and cursed himself for drinking too much. He absolutely refused to acknowledge the nagging little voice in the back of his mind telling him it was not a few ales that had weighed on him and ruined his sleep.

Long into the wee hours of the morning he had lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. Worries, questions, concerns, fears all danced through his mind, the focus of which he could not deny. Elowyn had changed him, altered so many of his perceptions that it scared him, made him wonder if he was going mad. He could not know whether she was aware of it or not, and he guessed he must have been hiding it well enough if she was not teasing him about it. Would she even tease him about such a thing? Was that beyond the limits of what she considered acceptable? Did she consider _anything_ unacceptable?

At some point he must have dozed off, though he could not have gotten more than two or three hours of sleep before the headache woke him just after dawn. With a heavy sigh, he forced himself upright on the narrow bed, scrubbing at his bleary eyes and praying for his sudden dizziness to pass. A desperate thirst replaced the feeling, followed quickly by an urgent need to relieve himself, and he stumbled noisily down the stairs, ignoring the grumbled protests of the other knights he disturbed along the way.

Several minutes later and feeling marginally better, though still exhausted, Thedret trudged back up the stairs toward the shared sleeping area. He was halfway to the top when he glanced up and noticed Elowyn's door was wide open.

Her door was _never_ left open.

He froze in place, his headache and tired body forgotten. As if in a trance, he moved breathlessly toward the door, already convinced of what he would find inside. Or rather, what he would _not_ find.

Soft sunlight filtered through the tiny window, revealing a sparsely furnished room that was tidy and empty as if it had not been lived in for weeks. Not a scrap of paper, not a single piece of armor, not even a worn whetstone left behind by the woman known far and wide for her slovenliness. She was simply…gone.

The room was not completely empty, however. Thedret gaped, too stunned to even be angry yet, and stared at the aged Prophet seated casually at Elowyn's small desk. The Imperial chuckled fondly at the expression on the younger man's face. "She is a wily one, is she not?" he asked Thedret with a rueful smile. "Aye, no mortal can hope to keep up with her. 'Tis well that the gods are on our side then, wouldn't you say, Knight of Julianos?"

"She…_left_?" Thedret demanded in disbelief, his mind whirling.

"That she did," the Prophet agreed with a bemused bob of his head. "She stole the map as I slept. The map that will lead her to Garlas Malatar, the lair of Umaril the Unfeathered."

"She went after Umaril? _By herself?!"_ The Redguard did nothing to hide the note of panic in his voice, though his thoughts were also colored with relief. For one terrible moment he feared she might have fled completely, back to the Asylums. He almost felt guilty for the thought, but there was no time to dwell on it. "Where is she?" he demanded.

The Prophet frowned thoughtfully, folding his hands in his lap as he appeared to ponder the best way to respond to the agitated man. "Elowyn Demark is a rare individual," he said eventually in a very measured tone. "She is one of the few people ever to be truly _willing_ to sacrifice her life for the lives of others. Many claim as much, but unlike most of these 'heroes,' Elowyn very much believes that her life is worth less than the lives of most other people. Odd, don't you think, considering what she is, the things she has done in her life, the people she has and continues to associate with?"

Thedret's jaw worked, his headache flaring again. "'Odd' is not exactly the word I would choose," he growled, impatient for the Imperial to get to the point. He was already determined to catch up to the woman and shake some sense into her, but without the Prophet's cooperation he knew he would never find her.

"Insane, then?" the old man chuckled kindly. "Yes, mad she most certainly is, but I think you have come to realize that madness is not at all what you once believed it to be. Do you…" he frowned again, a sympathetic sadness shining in his pale blue eyes, "do you know what it was that finally broke her mind?" At Thedret's faint headshake, the Prophet continued, "It was Martin Septim. His sacrifice crushed her."

"But," Thedret began, his face twisted into a frown, "it was necessary. There was no other way to stop the Oblivion invasion."

"And that is precisely what drove her mad," replied the aging man. "Both Martin and his father spoke of prophecy, the will of the gods, divine intervention, _fate_. When the last Septim stepped forward and embraced his destiny, the path laid out for him by the Nine, Elowyn could do nothing to change it. She could not save him. She was helpless to stop it."

Thedret was silent, absorbing the words, but after a moment he shook his head, urgency leaking into his tone. "What does this have to do with _now_? We need to go after her!"

"Patience, my child. You will find her soon enough, but you must be made to understand first." With a faint creaking of his aging joints, the Prophet stood, straightening his robes with his gnarled hands before reaching for his staff resting against the wall. He took a step forward to peer curiously at Thedret, and his voice seemed to echo too loudly in the small room.

"She tries to take this on herself because she feels that she must. Because she fears she will not be strong enough to bear another such loss. Because she is terrified of loosing you."

Thedret blinked, too surprised to reply for a few heartbeats. "You mean," he said very slowly, "the knights. Any one of us." His eyes narrowed. "Don't you…?"

Another soft smile touched the Imperial's wrinkled face. "No." He gave the incredulous Redguard a moment to digest that before he began to pace the short breadth of the room, his weight resting on his wooden staff. "She is convinced that the gods have set this up the same as the last time she did their bidding. She fears that you, and the other knights as well I suppose, are nothing but fodder for a battle that will get the lot of you slaughtered, because she fully believes that the gods care nothing for their mortal followers as long as their goals are met."

Something about the way the old man spoke gave Thedret pause. "Is she right to assume that?" he demanded. "Are we nothing but 'meatshields,'" he cringed as he said the word and unpleasantly remembered where he had last heard the absurd term used, "to soften the way for her?"

Tilting his head to one side, the Prophet stopped for a moment and gave the other man a long look. "I cannot give you a certain answer on that, Knight of Julianos. I may be privy to some information that the gods grant me, but I am still no more than mortal myself. But…" again the sadness crept into his eyes, "I can say that I understand why she believes as much."

Frustrated, Thedret bit back a growl and pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is foolishness," he snapped. "Why are we standing here talking about _this_ when we should be following her?"

The Prophet startled him when he reached out with one wizened hand and snatched the front of Thedret's tunic in a claw-like grasp, forcing the Redguard to hunch down and draw his face level with the stooped man. The Imperial's usually kind features were contorted into hard, unforgiving lines as his cold eyes bore into Thedret. "_You_ _must not die_," he commanded. "Should you fall, the consequences would be beyond your worst imaginings. She will doom us all if she sees another she loves fall because of the gods' plans."

"I have no intention of dying," Thedret insisted, straightening up with as much dignity as he could muster, and the Prophet released him. "I don't know what you're…" his words faltered as he replayed what the Prophet had just said. "Wait...what did you just say?"

The sternness faded from the Prophet's face, and he even chuckled under his breath before he hobbled stiffly past Thedret toward the door. "She will never tell you, you know. Now come. Ready your knights, Sir Thedret. You ride to your destiny."


	46. Chapter 46

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 46**

"Ow. Ow. Hmm…ow, owowowdamnit!" Elowyn snarled out a haggard sigh and scowled at the blood soaked bandage skewed haphazardly around her arm. "What I wouldn't give to have a third hand right about now."

Though far from life threatening, the gash near her elbow throbbed mercilessly and stubbornly refused to stop bleeding. Each time she bent the limb, the wound would split open again. The axe responsible for the damage had been intended for her face, but she had been quick enough to dodge away, her arm flying up on instinct. The sharpened edge had caught the chainmail beneath a fine gap in her armor, tearing it and her skin in one glancing blow. It was hardly worth wasting a healing potion on, but her frustration was quickly getting the better of her.

She gave the bandage one last tug, satisfied that it would at least stop the bleeding eventually, and glanced around her tiny camp not far from the ruins of Garlas Malatar. It would be night soon and she had yet to decide what her next move would be. Her first stealthy excursion into the ruins had not gone as planned, and she had discovered some disturbing facts that made her unsure how best to proceed. A part of her was convinced she would need to find a cave to hole up in for a few days in order to be powerful enough to fight through the hordes of daedra within, but that did not seem like a viable option. Especially considering that her knights would surely track her down by then.

Shadowmere startled the fretful woman when she let out a shrill neigh, her neck arched as she stared excitedly at the horizon to the south. The sun had nearly set, leaving the land bathed in long shadows, and it was several tense moments before Elowyn was able to make out the forms of several mounted riders coming her direction. The lead horse broke away from the pack at a hard gallop, its rider presumably having spotted her, and she cursed as she rose to meet him.

"Gods damned stubborn bastard," she hissed under her breath, refusing to acknowledge the startling twinge of delight and relief that jolted through her at the sight of Thedret's bay gelding. She knew he would find a way to follow, but so quickly? Her frustration doubled, and she met his angry glare with equal fervor when he trotted his sweating horse to a halt and swung out of his saddle.

"Just what in Oblivion were you thinking?" he growled, letting the bridle slip from his grasp as he tore off his helm, dropped it to the ground and stalked toward her. The furious man did not stop until he was only a half an arm's length away, his expression so fierce that Elowyn wondered with a touch of amusement if he meant to grab her. This by far trumped all of the other times she had seen him angry. Fists clenched at his sides, he snarled, "I would ask if you have lost your mind, but the answer to that was clear long ago."

"Still questioning my decisions, I see," she relied with a haughty lift of her chin. "Still want the hero job, hmm? I'm afraid you'll have to take your complaints up with Julianos. Maybe he'll be kind enough to send you your own curse."

"This has nothing to do with heroism, and you know that!" he shouted. "How could you leave us behind, after all we've been through together? Have we not trained for this? Has this not been our goal since the first moment we met? These knights depend on your leadership! Do you have any idea what I've had to deal with today?"

"No, I've been too busy getting chased by hordes of lovely golden daedra!" she cried in reply, lifting her wounded arm to show where the blood seeped through the bandage and dripped slowly into the dirt at her feet. "It's such a pity you couldn't be there to join in the fun!"

Thedret seemed momentarily taken aback by the sight of the wound, the anger in his dark eyes twisting with concern before hardening again almost as quickly. "It wouldn't have had to be like that if you'd just _waited_," he snapped.

"It would be a damned shame if I actually protected someone, hmm?"

"You didn't do this to protect us!" he scoffed, then stepped right up into her face, close enough for her to smell the faint scent of dust and sweat on his skin. "You did this to protect yourself!"

Elowyn stiffened, hating the way her heart wrenched at his words. She wanted to spit at him, strike him, drive him away so that she could complete her task and be rid of this land and its complications and _him_. Later she told herself it was probably a good thing that the rest of the knights caught up to them just then, Carodus leading the way.

"Are you two out of your damned heads?" he cried, though his tone was muted. He swung out of his saddle and regarded the pair of Redguards with disappointment and annoyance. "We can hear you clear across the field, even over the horses! Are you _trying_ to bring Umaril down on us?"

"It's too late to worry about that," Thedret spat, though he took several steps back and averted his eyes from Elowyn. That was probably due to the unflinching glare she had fixed on him, the kind of look that should by all rights melt steel. The rest of the knights dismounted and gathered around as Thedret continued. "Miss Demark has apparently already been inside. There will be no hope of taking Umaril by surprise now."

"That's fine with me," Geimund chimed in, shifting his axe from hand to hand as he rolled his neck and shoulders. "I prefer to face my enemies head on."

"It _is _possible to do both, you know," Brellin quietly voiced, his fingers dancing nervously along his bowstring. All of the knights were each in their own ways anxious for battle, Elowyn could see.

She startled as a gentle hand touched her wounded arm and she looked questioningly down at Avita's weathered face. "Hold still, my Lady," she ordered. "The healing will only take a moment."

Though Elowyn began to protest, the Imperial woman ignored her and within moments, the wound on her arm was gone as if it had never been. She could feel all of their eyes on her, but she found it very hard to look at any of them. Instead she busied herself with replacing her pauldron and bracer. It was Areldur who finally spoke up.

"Why did you leave us behind, my Lady?" he implored. The High Elf gazed at her with a compassionate but saddened expression, a look that made her feel both guilty and indignant in turns. "Have we disappointed you? Do you believe we are not ready to stand at your side?"

Elowyn blinked and stared around at the other knights, startled that this was what many of them seemed to be wondering as well. "No! I…" she faded off, her words failing her. The urge to suddenly spill her fears to them, to open herself and become vulnerable was nearly overwhelming. So, she immediately laughed.

"I was scouting ahead, of course," she lied cheerfully, giving them a moment to exchange uncertain glances. "Mm-hmm, someone had to get the lay of the land, so to speak, don't you think?" She drew a scrap of parchment from her belt and unfolded it, revealing a crude map sketched with charcoal. "See? I have my uses, hmm?"

The others murmured their understanding and leaned in closer to inspect the map, but Thedret remained rooted in place, staring at her as if she had sprouted three heads and started yodeling. She raised an eyebrow at his open-mouthed expression, ignoring the other knights until he finally shook his head and snapped his mouth shut. "Are you really going to stand there and…?"

"Don't we have more important matters to focus on?" she interrupted with a slight smile that seemed to irritate the man to no end.

There was a long, tense silence, Thedret stiffly grinding his jaw as he tried to work out how best to respond. Geimund leaned in toward his brother and muttered loudly enough for all of them to hear, "Reminds me of when Ma and Pa would bicker in front of us."

Gukimir grunted, "Aye, was thinking the same."

"Fine," Thedret snapped, though Elowyn could practically see the beating his pride was taking by backing down. He leveled a stubborn glare at her and pointed at her face. "But don't think for one moment that I will let this lie. When this is all over…"

"Yes, yes, you'll have me caned or force me to eat live worms or some such," she waved him off. She shook her head, her voice dropping low as if she were speaking to herself, "Hah, 'when this is over.' As if there is any reason to believe we will survive this."

Carodus touched her arm. "Can we please focus?" he pressed with a dark frown.

"Yes, tell us what we are looking at," Avita urged as well, gesturing to the map.

"Of course," Elowyn conceded. "On with the show, hmm? Hopefully most of you have been inside an Ayleid ruin before. This one is fairly typical for its kind, aside from one glaring difference."

"Umaril," Brellin provided.

"And then some. This place is swarming with his little Auroran pets, and I'm delighted to report that there's even better news." She frowned worriedly at them, unable to keep up her false front. "They're immortal."

There was a short, breathless silence followed by a chorus of gasps and sharp expressions of disbelief, but Thedret motioned the all quiet. "What do you mean?" he demanded.

"I mean if you cut off the head of one of our pretty golden friends, the head reattaches itself and it gets right back up." Elowyn let out a short, humorless bark of laughter at his expression. "If you think I'm lying, you'll surely find out soon enough, hmm?"

Thedret shook his head, refusing to answer to whether he believed her or not. "How can that possibly be? These are daedra like any other, are they not?"

"I have a theory on that," Elowyn quipped with a fleeting grin that made Thedret frown. "I spotted something here," she pointed to a dot marked on the map, "that I think is the culprit. It's some sort of orb, all black and shimmery, up on platform. It's heavily guarded – that's where they spotted me – but even from a distance I could feel the power rippling from the orb. I think Umaril has found a way to harness certain daedric magics within that ball and is using it to repeatedly resurrect his fallen minions."

"So we have to make a run for the orb and destroy it."

Elowyn's head jerked up, her eyes narrowed as she focused on the person who had just spoken. Lathon regarded her expectantly, waiting for her to respond to her assertion, but she rounded on Thedret with accusation written in her eyes. "You brought the _boy_?" she demanded.

Thedret eyed her calmly. "Lathon is perfectly capable of…" he faded off when the young man himself looked askance of him and stepped forward.

"If I may," the squire began, his eyes filled with a grim sense of pride. "I am no child, my Lady, and I wish to prove myself worthy of knighthood."

"This is no place for someone so raw," Elowyn countered firmly.

"I have been at Sir Roderic's side since I was eleven years old, my Lady. I have seen my share of battle." Though his expression remained firm, his eyes were wide and pleading, and he seemed almost horrified by the notion of being left behind. "Please, allow me this honor."

Elowyn groaned, as a glance around at the other knights revealed no one to support her position. She finally turned a baleful glare on Thedret, but the man merely shrugged. "If you had wished to have more input on who was brought along for this mission, you should not have run off to 'scout ahead.' My Lady."


	47. Chapter 47

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 47**

"Keep the formation tight." Thedret's whispered reminder echoed far too loudly in the cramped entryway just inside the ruins. The air was stifling and dusty, and the only sign that anyone had passed through recently was a few drops of Elowyn's blood on the stones beneath their feet. "Whatever happens, protect Areldur and Avita. Their healing will mean the difference between success and failure."

"Just remember to _keep moving_," Elowyn urged, and the bare tension in her usually so casual tone made Thedret turn to stare at her for a moment. She looked so strange wearing the Crusader's Armor, to the point where he had barely recognized her when he first spotted her outside. It was too sleek, too plain, too _normal_ for her – not to mention the hideous, boxy helmet did not suit her in the least – and he found himself longing to see her in that garish amber armor she so adored. He had to shake his head to force his eyes away from her, telling himself this was a terrible time to get distracted. Not that there was any proper time to be distracted by _her_.

The first two rooms were empty, filled only with a faint light from the glowing crystals along the walls and the sound of their cautious footsteps. Geimund, being the largest of them, had taken the point position of their mostly oval-shaped formation, with Elowyn and Thedret flanking him on either side. Carodus and Gukimir trailed just behind them, with Brellin and Lathon bringing up the rear to close off their protective ring around Avita and Areldur in the center. The idea was to drive through Umaril's forces like a wedge, going as quickly and efficiently as possible straight through their unbeatable foes toward what they believed was the source of their immortality.

The question was, could they do so without being outmaneuvered and overwhelmed? Elowyn had not seemed convinced, and Thedret was not so sure himself, but doing nothing was not an option.

"Here they come!" the Nord in front of him suddenly bellowed, splitting the fragile silence and heaving his axe up in anticipation. Several tall daedra melted from the shadows in the room beyond, readying their own weapons as they charged toward them. Thedret suppressed a chill as the sound of them snarling in their own language reached his ears, the Redguard finding something deeply disturbing about their unnatural speech.

Geimund cleaved straight through the skull of the lead attacker, kicking the limp body away and into another Auroran. Thedret and Elowyn met enemies of their own, their weapons ringing sharp over and over. "We have to keep moving!" Elowyn cried above the din. Thedret was suddenly glad he had convinced her to use the Crusader's Shield instead of leaving it strapped to her back. Though her skill at blocking was obviously poor, it was certainly coming in handy as an axe grazed off the smooth surface instead of into her shoulder. "We cannot stay in one place!"

"Doing the best I can!" Geimund growled. With a muted roar, he shoved back the closest Auroran, then lowered his shoulder and charged the oncoming line of enemies, smashing them aside like a battering ram. Elowyn and Thedret were careful to guard his former position in their formation, but the big Nord had made enough room for them to press forward as a group. Still, the progress was slow and he could hear the frustration and desperation creeping into Elowyn's voice as she shouted for them to move faster.

Thedret spared a glance behind them, giving himself only a fraction of a heartbeat to check on the others. Despite the unending wave after wave of enemies that rose effortlessly from mortal wounds, the knights were fairing well. Avita and Areldur seemed to have little trouble keeping up with the healing, and Thedret almost dared to hope that this insane idea just might work.

"Behind us!" Brellin screamed, abandoning his bow for a light sword and dagger as a large group of daedra swept in from the rear. Thedret had no idea where they had come from, but Elowyn shouted exactly what he suspected.

"It's a trap!" The woman snarled, baring her fangs as she struggled to throw off a pair of Aurorans, too caught up in the heat of combat to be mindful of hiding her true nature. Not that anyone had the time to give any notice to such things. "Fall back! They won't follow past the entrance! _Fall back!"_

It was too late, Thedret realized with a sinking feeling of dread deep in his gut. A solid wall of golden bodies surrounded them, bristling with axes, hissing foul threats in words they could not understand. There was a brief moment of stillness as they stood tense and unsure, a breathless feeling of _waiting_ for one side or the other to make a move. Thedret's mind went blank, not quite panicked, but not capable of focusing on anything farther than that exact moment. The others froze as well, presumably caught up in the same strange, tense lull.

Then the Aurorans charged from all sides. The world erupted in an explosion of violence and sound, of blades sparking off each other, of blood and pain and screams. Thedret fought as best he was able, grateful when a wave of healing hit him, but the thick press of bodies made fighting difficult, and then downright impossible. He shook off a flare of panic when one of the daedra crushed against his armor, the beast's breath hot and suffocating against his face. Their formation shattered, the knights fragmenting as they struggled just to _survive_.

"Run!" Elowyn screamed, snarling as she butted the hilt of her sword against an Auroran's neck and kicked out wildly to try to make some space around her – space which was almost instantly filled with another sneering daedra. "Run _now_!"

Thedret was thrown aside, the wind whooshing from his lungs painfully as the flat of an axe caught him across the chest. He felt something give way with a brittle snap when the wall rushed out to meet his back, the world spinning with black spots for a dizzying moment. Someone grabbed the front of his armor, yanking the gasping, helpless man along, but in what direction he could not know. He heard Avita cry out in pain, the other knights shouting and barking orders to one another, though it all sounded feeble and chaotic…desperate. How could they have been so stupid to think this would work?

When he finally regained some sense, he realized it was Elowyn shoving him along, doing her damnedest to protect the both of them, her armor dented and bloody. The others were no better off, each of them scrambling madly toward the entrance of the ruins, Gukimir literally carrying Avita's dead weight, Brellin and Carodus fighting with their backs pressed hard together. Thedret spotted Lathon last, the youngest of them struggling to hold back the bulk of the tide as he was the last to retreat.

Shaking off Elowyn's hand, Thedret straightened himself and beat back one of the nearest Aurorans, ignoring the sharp protest of his wounded body. "Stop playing the hero, boy!" he shouted hoarsely to the squire.

Lathon spun on his toes nimbly, dodged away and made a break for the doors, but he could not hope to escape the sheer numbers. One Auroran darted forward with inhuman speed and its axe flew and struck true, splitting clean into the young man's side, cleaving straight through armor, flesh and bone effortlessly. Thedret cried out, barely aware of Elowyn's anguished scream beside him, momentarily stunned by the startled, disbelieving look on the squire's face. Lathon opened his mouth as if to speak, but thick blood trickled past his lips instead. Hands grabbed Thedret roughly by the shoulders, pulling him back and out of the ruin as Lathon was swallowed up by the horde within.

Outside, Thedret stumbled to his knees in the trampled grass, acutely aware of the way his broken ribs screamed in protest with his every move. Geimund snarled out an incoherent string of angry words, throwing his helm and axe to the ground. Areldur was bent over a very pale and unconscious Avita, his narrow face drawn with fear, and several moments ticked by with only the sounds of their panting and the occasional curse. No one seemed willing to speak first, and Thedret wondered if he was the only one who could not bring himself to look at the others.

It was not until Avita gasped and sat up sharply that anyone began to speak. "She will be fine," Areldur murmured to no one in particular, and Thedret glimpsed Elowyn crouched beside the Imperial woman. Blood streaked the side of her head and neck and her red eyes were bright with unshed tears, but her face was set with grim determination.

"Thank Stendarr for small mercies," Brellin softly spoke, his relief palpable.

"Small mercies indeed." Thedret was quite surprised to discover that the bitter, spiteful voice spitting those words was his own. "Not mercy enough to stop us from walking into a trap, of course."

Carodus sat down hard beside him, his eyes glazed over as he passed a haggard hand over his face. "I…I can't believe we lost Lathon. He was…just a kid…"

"It could have gone a lot worse, and he knew the risks," Geimund snapped as he paced back and forth, and he wore the same dark, stubborn expression as Elowyn. "He died an honorable death, worthy of a knight. Don't sully that with pity."

"It was my choice to bring him," Thedret growled, shoving himself to his feet in spite of his pain. "He was my responsibility."

"Enough of this." Elowyn's voice had never carried so much authority as it did then, and he was surprised and privately impressed by her stance. For one moment, she looked exactly as he pictured a hero should – cold, stoic, determined in the face of impossible odds. Her eyes when he met them were filled with a strange sense of pity, and her next words were almost a whisper direction straight at him. "Now you feel just a fraction of my burden. Don't forget it, hmm?"

Areldur helped Avita to her feet and began to see to the wounds of the other knights, though the High Elf looked pale and exhausted from extrusion. "What's next?" Gukimir demanded, shifting his weight restlessly from foot to foot.

Elowyn's expression hardened again and she addressed them all. "You won't like it, but I hardly give a damn. I have one more plan, and just as much confidence in it as the last. Heal up, rest a moment, then I'll explain."

She turned her back to them, but added over her shoulder, her voice strained, "And if anyone else decides to up and play hero and get themselves killed, I will find a way to bring you back and kill you again myself."


	48. Chapter 48

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 48**

The sounds of battle faded away as Elowyn crept down the shadowy hallways, silent as a wraith despite her nervousness. While Thedret and the others were creating a diversion at the front of the ruins, she had managed to slip past the Aurorans and back into the deeper areas of the ruin without being noticed. It had been a sight easier to accomplish this much than it had been to convince the knights to go along with her plan. Not that she would have been swayed by any argument – Lathon's death had sealed her determination, and she would have tried with or without their assistance.

An Auroran patrol marched toward her, and she pressed back into a small alcove as much as her armor would allow. She was not used to wearing a helmet or carrying a shield, and these things felt like burdens to her, slowing her down and limiting her ability to function. She had to wonder bitterly if that were the gods' plans all along, since they seemed to get so much sick satisfaction from making everything more difficult for her.

Normally, the daedra would probably have noticed her as they passed close enough for her to reach out and touch them, but they were agitated and distracted, presumably because of the battle raging not far away. She wondered if these in the lower parts, left to guard a boring orb, were jealous of those involved in the actual battle. Whatever the case, their blessed unawareness of her presence was working to her benefit, and as soon as she was able, she sought out a place separated from the main rooms to begin her plan. This was easier said than done, but she finally managed to get far enough away from the roaming Aurorans to cast her summoning spell without drawing their attention.

Vika raised a slim eyebrow at Elowyn as she materialized into the room. "I am relieved to see you alive and well, my Lord," the Mazken murmured with a low bow of respect.

Though she motioned Vika to lower her voice, Elowyn managed a tight, wry grin. "As am I," she whispered.

Frowning, the Mazken's green eyes darted around the small room, her hand suddenly grasping at her sword hilt nervously. "What is this place?" she hissed, her toned body falling into an often-used defensive stance. "It reeks of daedric magics, but none that I recognize."

"There is an Ayleid sorcerer here with a very overblown ego," Elowyn explained quietly, her vampire eyes searching through the walls for any trace of Aurorans coming their direction. "I intend to kill him."

Vika nodded sharply, obviously anxious for a fight as she drew her sword and bounced on her toes. "What do you need of me, my Lord?"

"A distraction." Elowyn had to chuckle at the Mazken's scowl, but she cut the sound short as she sighted a group heading their direction. Silently, the pair pressed as far back as the room would allow, crouching in the shadows until the daedra passed them by without incident.

"Why do we not attack, Madgod?" the gray skinned female demanded with a snarl.

"Simple. They're immortal."

"Ah. 'Tis a good reason, then."

"I'm going to change that right now."

"How?"

Elowyn produced her crude map from her belt and began to explain. "We are here. What you will do is run like so, along this narrow causeway. There are dozens of Aurorans up there – this will be a true test of your infamous agility."

"A test I shall pass, of course," the Mazken snorted.

"No foolish dramatics," Elowyn warned harshly. "I don't give a damn what you do to get the job done, but don't get overrun. This is too important. We've underestimated them once and we cannot afford to do so again.

"Once you've led them off, I will slip around here to here," she pointed to the orb's location on her map. "This is what I believe is keeping these bastards alive. With it destroyed, we will be able to kill them properly and my knights will not have to be cut down on their push inside."

The Dark Seducer nodded thoughtfully to herself as she studied the map and absorbed the plan. "Very well, my Lord."

"Vika…" Elowyn grabbed the female's arm, her words stuck in her throat for a moment. The Mazken eyed her curiously, but Elowyn could not stop seeing Lathon's face in her mind, his shocked expression as his life ebbed away. Despite knowing death was not the end for her summoned minion, Elowyn was not sure she could handle the sight of another death so soon. "This could easily go very bad for you. If…if that happens, I just want to say…"

"Madgod." Smiling faintly, Vika lightly touched the back of Elowyn's hand on her arm. "I could ask for no greater honor than to give my life in your service."

Elowyn scowled. "You know me well enough to know how much I hate hearing you say that."

"Indeed," the gray skinned daedra chuckled. "Should I fall, I shall do my best to return to you quickly from the Waters. Now. Tell me when you are ready, my Lord."

Elowyn gave a hesitant nod, then steeled her resolve. They waited in breathless anticipation for several minutes. After the next patrol passed their hiding place, Elowyn gave Vika a signal and the Mazken quietly crept out into the corridor beyond. Elowyn remained perfectly still in a low crouch, her legs cramped with tension, but she blocked out the discomfort and waited.

When Vika's shout came, a tangle of incoherent snarls and scathing insults, Elowyn was ready. She sprang forward, moving as silently as possible in a dead sprint for the narrow walkway leading to the orb. The vampire did not allow herself the opportunity to worry about her Mazken companion, but only focused on making it to the next corner, then the next, keeping away from the Aurorans straggling after Vika. Elowyn slipped and nearly fell as she flew around the last bend, skidding to a halt several feet from the humming, pulsating orb – and the snarling Auroran guarding it.

Vika screamed somewhere below her and to her left, a sound as much pain as it was anger, and Elowyn did not give herself time to think. She sprang at the oncoming golden daedra, driving the Crusader's Sword straight through the immortal creature's chest before spinning away. With a cry of effort, she abandoned her blade and lunged forward, swinging out with her left arm to bash the orb from its fixture with her shield. The dark mass exploded in a shower of dusty fragments, momentarily blinding the panting woman.

A great shudder shook the entire ruin, a ripple seeming to tear outward from the destruction of the power source. Several pained cries rang out around her, all coming from the nearby daedric minions of Umaril the Unfeathered. Elowyn turned as the Auroran behind her collapsed, her sword still protruding from either side of its body. With deep satisfaction, she yanked the blade free and sneered down at the dead creature.

"Run, my Lord!" Vika's scream shook Elowyn from her daze, and she blanched as at least a dozen furious Aurorans turned their attention toward the woman who had destroyed the source of their great power. Vika skewered the one closest to her, blood running from numerous unnoticed wounds on her dark skin, and cried again, "Run now! Do what you came to do, Madgod! _Go_!"

There was no time for indecision. Driven by a burst of adrenaline, Elowyn sprinted for the great stone doorway at the end of the hallway. She could hear footsteps echoing behind her like thunder, the daedra snarling angrily as they gave chase. The moment she slipped through the opening, she spun around, prepared to make a stand in the narrow place and drive them back or pick them off one at a time. Or die trying.

With a great rumble, a massive stone slab slid across the doorway, blocking her from the Aurorans and trapping her inside the chamber. Immediately, she sensed him, though she could not know how or why. She reasoned it must have been the armor, or some remnant of Pelinal Whitestrake perhaps haunting her or his ancient nemesis. Whatever it was, Elowyn turned slowly as the massive creature clad in garish golden armor strode casually into view.

Umaril the Unfeathered.

There was a moment of silent regard, the two of them merely absorbing the sight of one another perhaps. Not only was he huge, towering over the tall Redguard by more than a few feet, but the enormous, glowing sword in his hands was easily long enough to skewer Elowyn clean through from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet. He carried it as if it weighted nothing at all. Power radiated from him in visible waves, testament to the great magic that swelled within him.

The Ayleid sorcerer laughed suddenly, the growling rumble making the hairs on the back of Elowyn's neck stand on end. In an impossibly deep voice, he spoke slowly at her, though Elowyn could not hope to understand the long-forgotten language. Whatever it was he said, it was obviously not meant to be flattering.

Drawing herself up to full height, Elowyn raised her shield in challenge and sneered, "You're a lot smaller than I expected. Jyggalag was bigger, but he is an actual god, and you are just an arrogant pretender. Let's see if size matters, hmm?"


	49. Chapter 49

**A/N:** Thanks for reviews!

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 49**

It was cold inside the tomb beneath the Priory, the kind of chill that seeps into a person's bones and makes them shudder. Even the torchlight was dim and uninviting, yet Thedret could not bring himself to leave. He could not bring himself to turn away from the door either. In the practice room he could hear muted discussion, though the two Imperials obviously had no idea he was listening from the other side of the closed door.

"I don't think he knows what to do with himself." Carodus sounded worried and anxious, but also a bit impatient, as if he had discussed the topic a number of times already. "But we can't just do _nothing_! The Knights of the Nine will fall apart again, all of our efforts for naught if someone doesn't take over leadership, and soon."

Avita sighed. "He will come around. Give him time, child. The man is grieving."

"We're _all_ grieving!"

"Yes, this is true. But for some, loss comes harder, and for good reason."

Carodus sighed, and Thedret could easily picture the man running his hand through his hair and shifting from foot to foot. He told himself he should feel guilty for burdening them all with such worries, but he could not bring himself to care. "She's dead, Avita. There's nothing we can do but carry on without her. She would want that, wouldn't she?"

"Patience."

The Redguard let his forehead rest against the rough wood and blocked out their voices. He told himself to turn around, to do what he had come down here to do, but his body refused to obey. Or perhaps his mind refused to give the order. He could not tell which, but his meandering thoughts reminded him painfully of her. It was the kind of thing _she_ would say.

In the end, it was the knowledge that this was his last chance to see her that made him slowly turn to face Elowyn's low bier. She was lying in state in the center of the tomb, arms calmly at her sides, her face as serene and peaceful as if she were only sleeping. Someone, probably Avita, had cleaned her body and dressed her in the foreign, violet dress she had been so fond of, and even gone so far as to spread her braids out in a pretty fan-shape across the bottom edge of the pillow.

Tonight was their last night to say farewell. Tomorrow she would be buried. Tomorrow he would have to finally admit that she was gone.

He was not sure how he ended up kneeling beside her, staring at her sallow complexion. Just as in life, she was paler than most Redguards, and her skin was ice cold when he touched the back of her hand, but she looked so _alive_. He half expected her eyes to flutter open, her breath to catch in her throat, he lips to turn up in that sardonic smile he knew so well…but she did not, and she never would again.

He could vividly recall the events five days earlier, how they had fought desperately at the entrance of Garlas Malatar, trying to keep the Auroran's distracted. Elowyn's plan had been sheer folly, he was sure of that, but there was no other choice before them. Just when he had begun to believe they would never succeed, that Elowyn had surely been caught, he had heard their enemies cry out in pain. The knights had _felt_ the change when it happened, and a surge of hope strengthened their tiring limbs, inspiring them to fight for all they were worth.

It had not mattered, though. They were too late, _always_ too late.

They found her pinned beneath the monstrous body of Umaril the Unfeathered. Her armor was battered and crushed in many places, her helmet completely missing, her shield several feet away and bent nearly double on itself. There was so much blood on _everything_ that Thedret knew better than to hope even before they reached her.

He could still hear the way Areldur's voice quivered and broke as he declared her spirit was gone, her body nothing more than a battered and empty shell. After a hushed moment of stark disbelief, Thedret had fallen to his knees there, howling his rage to the gods, cursing Julianos in front of everyone present. He stopped short of renouncing his vows, but only because he did not wish to toss aside his knighthood when it could still do some good for Cyrodiil.

The cold truth was, it should not have ended that way. _She_ should not have ended that way. But she had proven herself right. The gods really did not give a damn about those they used.

"I'm such a fool." He had not intended to speak out loud, and Thedret's whispered words echoed eerily in the domed chamber, making him take a nervous glance around. Though he had never seen even a trace of the supposed spirits who dwelt there, he had to wonder if they were watching him right then. It made him feel very awkward, but he almost immediately shoved that aside as being sheer stupidity. What did he care if they saw him? Let them judge him if they so wished.

"It wasn't supposed to end like this. None of your other exploits ever got you killed. Why this one?" He had not expected to feel so angry, angry with _her_, but he did, and the more he thought about it the more the anger burned. "You knew this would happen all along, that the Nine were throwing you to the wolves, but you didn't stop. You just let them use you!"

Then, as suddenly as it had flared, the fury in him faded away to a hollow, empty echo inside of him. "I should never have agreed to follow you," he whispered, and though his voice was pinched, his face was impassive and his eyes were dry. "Following you changed me. Knowing you changed me. The man I was before could have shrugged this off, could have kept going in the name of honor and righteousness and the greater good and all that _garbage_, but now…

"I can't lie to myself. I can't explain away the things the gods put you through, and then for them to simply abandon you at the end…to leave you at the mercy of Umaril…"

He let loose a ragged sigh and slumped forward to rest his forehead against the edge of the stone bier. "What a fool I've been. There are so many things I wish I'd said to you…but now, here, they'll sound like nonsense if I speak them aloud. You're gone and nothing I say will change that. How could I have been so blind?"

After a long few moments of contemplative silence, Thedret raised his hand over the lip of the stone and curled his fingers around her hand. Her skin was so cold, as cold as the slab on which she lay, but there was no stiffness in her joints as their hands joined in a natural, comfortable clasp. He stared at the conjoined fingers for a heartbeat, burying the sharp pang that gripped his chest, then rested his head against the bier once more.

"Of all the things I would say, I supposed only one of them matters. But you can't even hear me…so what's the point?"

Thedret's jaw ached as his teeth ground together, his eyes pressed shut and his fingers trembling against her lifeless hand. He swallowed back the pain, denied the swelling ache in his heart, refused to face what he felt because it was just too damned hard.

In the stillness of the tomb, with only the dust and shadows as witnesses, Thedret rasped, "I'm sorry."


	50. Chapter 50

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 50**

The first rush of breath in her lungs felt like the sting of a thousand needles, and the first beat of her once-still heart was like a hammer blow against her chest. The shock of cold and hunger and fear blazed in a fierce and disorienting flame through her mind, her body, her _soul_ even it seemed.

It was like being thrown into a sack full of angry cats. And then swallowing a few just for good measure.

Then, as quickly as it had come, the pain was gone again and she felt the same fuzzy confusion Elowyn always felt upon waking from a deep sleep. As relieved as she was, the shift was _too_ abrupt and left her gasping for a moment as if someone had dumped icy water over her face. She dared not do more than lie still, waiting for the room to stop spinning. When she finally gained some of her sense back, the first thing she wondered was why her bed was so damned uncomfortable. And then she remembered.

She had died.

Leave it to the Nine Divines to gift a mortal with a blessing that causes instant death, she thought. But for the first time in a long while, the thought was without bitterness. They had sent her back, after all, once she had completed her task, once Umaril had been destroyed for good. So they had used her, but they had restored her as well. Not that she did not still hate them, of course. Short of turning back time and altering history, there was not much they could do to change that.

Her aching back begged her to shift from her prone position, but she found that something heavy was pinning down her left hand. The digits had gone numb and tingled slightly and felt a bit…wet? She managed a little wiggle to ease the pressure on her stiff spine, then cracked open her bleary eyes. The sight that greeted her forced a choked laugh out of her parched throat.

Thedret was kneeling beside the low stone slab her body had been placed upon. His cheek rested against the back of her hand, angled away from her, but she could feel his faint breath against her skin where his drool had cooled it. Somehow he had managed to fall asleep in that impossible position. His hand was curled around her own, making her wonder with a sharp, hot twist of _something_ in the center of her chest what exactly he had been doing or saying while she was off chasing Umaril's spirit.

"Thedret." She reached out with her free hand, not yet willing to try to sit up since she hardly trusted her body to obey her orders so soon. She smoothed her fingertips over the ridges of his braids, tracing the furrows along his warm scalp with her short fingernails. Thedret shivered and mumbled something, but did not wake. "Thedret? It's very unknightly to slobber all over a woman, hmm? Especially a dead woman."

The man let out a faint groan and lifted his head a notch. His eyes were pressed tightly shut, his brow furrowed in lines of pain – not surprising considering how awkward his resting position had been – and he shook his head slightly. Then she touched his cheek and he froze, his eyes snapping open in startled disbelief. His breath caught in his throat in a shocked gasp, his mouth working wordlessly as he stared at her face. Elowyn smiled at him and traced the rough stubble along his jaw with her fingers, waiting for him to speak.

"I…am I dreaming?" he breathed, dark eyes dancing across her features as if he were trying to memorize her, and Elowyn was strangely warmed by the desperate edge to his tone.

Still smiling, she slipped her hand down to his neck, gently caressing his warm skin. He shivered again, his eyes sliding closed for a brief moment as a fleeting expression of something like sorrow flitted across his features. Then he let out an entirely unmanly yelp and stumbled backward onto his rear as she gave his sensitive flesh a sharp pinch.

She chuckled, amused by his wide-eyed stare up at her as he rubbed his offended neck. He did not even seem angry, only still confused and stunned. "I would say you're probably not dreaming, hmm?" she suggested.

"You're alive," he whispered without making any effort to move, staring at her as if he expected her to suddenly vanish.

She nodded once. "And cold," she added, but the moment she spoke the words, a thrill of fear struck her. She ran her tongue along her teeth and breathed a sigh of relief. It would be completely typical of the Nine to send her back "cleansed" of her disease, but she was still very much a vampire. "Thank the gods for small favors."

Still staring, Thedret pushed himself upright and started to stand on unsteady legs. "I…don't understand. Five days. You've been _dead_ for five days…"

"You can thank your gods for that," she said with a gentle smile. "It wasn't my idea, believe me. I…"

The torches along the walls flickered suddenly as if a gust of wind had traveled through the room, and a chill crawled up Elowyn's spine. From the shadows along the walls, shapes emerged and formed themselves into the ghostly outlines of the spirit knights. A glance at Thedret revealed a wide-eyed, open-mouthed stare that amused her to no end. She reclined against the uncomfortable stone bier, looking as casual and confident as possible despite knowing she probably could not even sit up if she tried, and waited for the spirits to speak.

"You have done well, woman," Sir Amiel said with a sense of calm satisfaction.

"Yes, well," Elowyn waved her hand dismissively, "I'm inclined to believe that my breasts meant the difference between failure and success, hmm?"

Apparently accustomed to her crude comments by now, the spirit knight continued without hesitation. "You have done more than you realize. With Umaril's defeat, we are now released of our bonds. You have freed us, Champion."

Elowyn snorted. "You're welcome. Enjoy your afterlife."

The ghost chuckled faintly, the first sign of humor Elowyn has seen in him. "That I most certainly shall do. Farewell, Chosen of the Nine."

She blinked and they were gone as if they had never come. The room felt noticeably warmer in their absence, and she breathed a small sigh before turning an ironic smirk on Thedret. "I told you there were ghosts. I only had to die to prove it to you, hmm?"

"I…" Thedret shook his head, then began massaging his temples with a look of frustrated confusion. "I can't believe I'm not dreaming."

"I could pinch you again," Elowyn offered around a laugh.

She forced her stiff limbs to obey her and struggled to push herself into a sitting position, but she could not quiet the trembling of her weakened body. Thedret was suddenly in front of her, his arms sliding easily around her waist and shoulders to support her. It was a distressingly intimate embrace, made all the more so when Elowyn was forced to twine her arms around his neck in order to best take advantage of his assistance. When she was finally sitting, her feet on the floor off the edge of the bier, Thedret did not fully release her. Instead he knelt on the floor, one hand on her shoulder and the other braced against the small of her back as he studied her face with an intensity that made her feel lightheaded. No, she told herself, she was just dazed from having risen from the dead was all. He had nothing to do with it.

"How are you feeling?" he asked searchingly.

"Mmm…a bath would be nice. And I'm hungry," she answer truthfully, though it was clear her vampirism had not advanced during her time in the spirit realm. Another small favor from the Nine? She was beginning to grow suspicious that there was something dreadfully unpleasant awaiting her in the near future.

Instead of the disgust or annoyance that she had expected, Thedret only seemed relieved by her words. "Easily enough remedied."

Her arms still loosely around his neck, she flashed him a wicked smirk and gave the end of one of his short braids a fond tug. "You offering?"

The relief on his face contorted into a small, almost embarrassed grin and Elowyn was acutely aware of his hand tightening against her back. "Once was enough."

"A pity. I meant the bath," she teased, though her voice had gone a bit breathless from the way Thedret had relaxed in closer to her.

What was this? Last she saw him, Thedret was all but calling her a fool and burning with anger and indignation at their failed plan – _her_ failed plan, though he had not thrown that exact accusation upon her. Waking up to him worrying over her in an almost possessive way was not at all what she had expected. Not that she was complaining. Was she?

"I can't believe this is real." Thedret seemed unable to tear his eyes from hers and his voice was strained as he gazed at the woman he held. "I thought…I-I…I thought I'd never…"

The door to the tomb swung open, startling them both. "Not meaning to disturb you, Sir Thedret, but we thought we heard…" Geimund froze, his face betraying shock and disbelief at what he beheld, and behind him Sergius whispered in stark incredulity, "By Talos…"

The Nord cleared the room in two long strides, then all but collapsed to his knees beside Thedret, his pale eyes wide as saucers as he stared at Elowyn. She smiled and drew away from Thedret to touch the other man's shoulder gently. "You can blink, you know. I won't disappear."

Geimund dragged her into a bear hug that whooshed the air right out of her lungs. "You're alive!" he choked out, and she could hear the tears quavering in his voice. "I should have known not even death could hold you back for long." He shoved her away by her shoulders suddenly and leveled a fierce glare at her. "Don't you ever scare us like this again!"

She chuckled, aware of Sergius shouting for the rest of the knights from the other room. As delighted as she was by their concern and affection, she was suddenly acutely aware of Thedret's absence. The Redguard man had stood and backed away a few paces to give the others a chance to greet her, but his eyes never left her. When she looked at him, he smiled faintly, his eyes soft with something fragile yet determined, something that confused her. The confusion contorted into a sudden jolt of fear as too many thoughts jumbled up in her mind, but she forced a smile and faced her knights. There would be time later to face that fear. Or to run from it as fast as she could.


	51. Chapter 51

**A/N: **I'm completely swamped with reality these days, but a big thanks to everyone who has reviewed. There are four more chapters after this one, then the story will be all wrapped up. :)

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 51**

The celebration had already started by midmorning the next day, though Thedret was not really surprised. If there was one thing the Knights of the Nine – or the Knights of Madness, as Geimund had drunkenly dubbed them once again – excelled at, it was rowdy revelry. Someone had even arranged the hiring of a mistral for the event, and Thedret had to admit that the young woman's voice added a special ambiance to the warm gathering.

Laughter and idle chatter, feasting and song carried on throughout the entirety of the day and long into the evening. By the time the sun had set, Thedret was content to stand unnoticed in the farthest corner near the fireplace, doing little more than sip his wine and watch the people celebrating. It was enough for him. Just watching Elowyn flit from person to person, or dragged off to dance, or being forced to retell for the thousandth time exactly what the spirit realm was really like was enough to bring him a calm sense of contentment.

Instead of a funeral, they were gathered for a resurrection.

At times it was a difficult thought to swallow. He would stare at her, holding his breath and wondering if she was going to disappear before his eyes. It was too _easy_ for some reason, too simple. What was the catch? Or perhaps it was just that he felt guilty for his furious, blasphemous words thrown in grief at his god. He had already asked for and received forgiveness for the outburst, but his apparent and unexpected lack of faith bothered him. Was it really such a flimsy thing to him now? For so many years, Julianos had been all he had, and his faith had taken a bitter, dispirited boy and made him into a proud, capable knight. But something had changed…why had he let it change?

"You seem lost in thought, Sir Thedret." Brellin smiled kindly and rested his back against the wall nearby as the Redguard snapped out of his musings. "Geimund would chide you for neglecting your celebratory duties, I imagine."

Thedret forced himself to put his worries aside for the moment, and his answering chuckle was warm and genuine. "Yes, I'm sure you're right. But we all celebrate in our own ways, I dare say."

"True enough."

The Wood Elf mimicked Thedret and observed the party for a few quiet moments, but Thedret caught the calculating sidelong glances Brellin sent his way. "Something on your mind, my friend?"

"I just…" the smaller man shifted nervously and frowned down into his mug of ale. "I suppose I'm just curious. About how you feel right now." Seeing Thedret's confused expression, the Bosmer sighed and struggled to elaborate. "My wife…when she was killed, there were times when I dreamed she was…brought back to me." He let slip a sad laugh and avoided Thedret's sympathetic gaze. "It was not as though I could stop from wishing for such, and sometimes the dreams were so _beautiful_…but they always brought more pain than joy. A person cannot be returned from beyond the grave…"

Thedret found himself momentarily at a loss for words as a silence fell over them. "Brellin, I truly am sorry. I don't know what…"

"You have a second chance, Thedret," Brellin cut him off with a wan smile. "An opportunity to say all the things you know you should have said but never felt were needed or appropriate. It is truly a monumental blessing. I hope you realize that."

Taken aback, Thedret blinked numbly at the Wood Elf for a moment, then shook his head and tried to recover his voice. "Surely you aren't comparing the loss of your wife for you to the loss of Elowyn for me? I…you were married for years!" He tried not to sound as flustered as he felt, but gods above the connection the Bosmer had drawn was not something he would ever have made. He knew he cared for the woman, but to compare it to something so deep, so _real_ was hard for him to wrap his head around. "I've hardly known the woman a few months at best. That's not near enough time for something to…"

"Time." The Bosmer laughed as he echoed the word, his gaze drawn back to the murky depths of his mug once more. Thedret realized the other man was probably pretty drunk, and for whatever reason, that relieved him a bit. "Time is the one thing we cannot do a damned thing about. It just keeps on going, regardless of what we want. And we keep telling ourselves, 'Tomorrow I shall do this,' or, 'Tomorrow would be a better time for that.' Then one day we wake up and realize 'tomorrow' happened years ago, and will never come again."

The Wood Elf was smiling faintly despite the edge of sorrow in his voice, and Thedret had to answer with a rueful laugh and a half-smile. "I wonder why I get the feeling you're trying to tell me something."

Brellin only shrugged and made no effort to explain himself. "I am a bit jealous, you know," he added after a few moments of companionable silence. "Blissfully happy, joyously ecstatic for the both of you…and still jealous nonetheless."

Thedret sighed, wishing he knew how to convince the other man that his relationship with Elowyn was nothing remotely like that. Not that he did not wish it was. Though, honestly he was starting to question what exactly it was he wanted at all. If she felt something like he felt, if it was put into words…then what? She had said many times that she had no intention of remaining in Cyrodiil. And if he believed her insane story about the Shivering Isles, he could hardly be expected to follow after her and adopt the lifestyle of a madman. It left him at an impasse, and the feeling was not a pleasant one in the least. Despite his undeniable joy at having her returned to him, the whole thing left him feeling far more lost than he had when she was a casualty in the wake of the gods' plans.

"My Lord?" Avita approached the pair with a smile and asked if they were enjoying themselves, but she was looking at Thedret with an oddly pointed stare. "Might I have a word in private, Sir Thedret?"

Brellin took the hint and with a quick bow of his head and a murmured pardon, he made for the other side of the room.

"Have you come to feed me a lecture as well?" Thedret fondly teased, but something about the older woman's almost fearful expression drained the amusement out of him. "What's happened? What's wrong?"

"She is gone."

It took a moment for the words and their meaning to truly sink in. "Gone?" Tedret's eyes darted around the crowded room in growing panic, though he did his best to hide it. Elowyn was nowhere in sight. "You mean she stepped out to get some air, or…"

"That is what she said she planned to do more than a half of an hour ago," the Imperial gently interrupted, though her usually stoic expression was glossed over with worry and agitation. "I went outside to see if she needed anything, but she was not there, and her mare is gone from the field. I checked her room, but there is nothing there. She took everything. She…"

Thedret did not wait to hear more. He rushed past the healer, not caring that he nearly bowled her down in the process, and leapt up the stairs two at a time. He stood frozen just inside Elowyn's empty room – empty _again_ – torn between anger and indignation and something else.

He spun around when a gentle hand touched his elbow. Avita held out a small folded piece of parchment to him, her face lined with sympathy. "It was on the desk. It is addressed to you."

Thedret hesitantly accepted the paper, then stared blankly after the aged woman as she headed back down to the celebration. He had a sudden and strange hope that Avita would be the one to tell the drunken knights that Elowyn had vanished because he surely did not wish to bear them such news. Anger surged in him at the thought. How could she do this to them?

Hands shaking, Thedret ran his fingertips over his name written in Elowyn's sprawling script, almost afraid to open the note for fear of what it might say. Why had she done this? He had not even gotten a chance to speak with her. With so many things seeming unsettled between them, did she not have any desire to speak with him? The only place he could hope to find any answers would be this note, in her own words. Slowly, he unfolded the parchment and read the short message within.

_Thedret,_

_Gone home. Take good care of our children._

_Elowyn_

He stared at the words for a long time, then crumpled the paper in his fist with a grimace. That was _it_? All she had to say? And here he had thought this would end up so much differently. He had no idea exactly how he thought it would end, but not like this, not with a few scribbled words and no good byes. Did she not care if…?

Then it struck him. What reason did he have to believe she cared for him one wit more than anyone else? Nothing had ever been spoken, nothing implied even aside from some silly bet made by the other knights and the cryptic proclamation of an old man. The woman flirted with anything and everything. It was simply part of her personality, perhaps something sharpened and amplified by the madness she loved. Had she ever hinted at something different when it came to him? Why had he assumed his feelings – whatever they were – were mirrored in her? Just because a servant of the gods had said she loved him?

His thoughts hurt him far more than he expected them to, but he valiantly tried to shove them aside. He felt like a fool. But a small sliver of reason invaded his thoughts – she had left him in command of the Knights of the Nine. Considering how personally she had taken the responsibility herself, it was quite a compliment she had bestowed upon him. She trusted him with their "children." That was something. Was it not?

Thedret smoothed out the crumpled parchment and refolded it neatly. After stowing it in a pouch on his belt, the Redguard took a deep breath, squared his shoulders determinedly and strode down the stairs to break the news to his knights.


	52. Chapter 52

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 52**

"Haskill. I'm bored."

The reedy Breton raised an eyebrow at the woman sitting on the garish throne. She was leaning forward, an anxious frown across her face, and the sound of her fingernails drum, drum, drumming rapidly against the armrest was exceptionally irritating. "Shall I summon a dancer?" he drawled.

Elowyn snorted, looking even more agitated by the suggestion. "No. _You_ entertain me, hmm?"

Haskill leveled a dry look at the Madgod, an expression she mimicked perfectly in return. Sometimes he missed Sheogorath. "Entertainment is not my area of expertise." Had he been anyone else, he might have felt guilty at the despondent, childlike expression his words inspired, and he sighed. "Madam, you only returned to us days ago, and already you complain of boredom."

Elowyn pouted and lounged back into the throne. "I don't like boredom. I like complaining. I get to listen to the sound of my own voice without torturing everyone by singing bawdy tavern songs."

"And we are most grateful for that," Haskill replied archly, but the woman did not even seem to be listening anymore. She stared idly off toward the far end of the hall, her fingernails continuing their staccato assault on her chamberlain's ears. Haskill resisted the urge to grind his teeth and offered up a suggestion. "You have yet to visit the Fountainhead, madam. Your Chosen have been most…_anxious_ in your absence."

The woman perked up for a moment, but Haskill watched with muted curiosity as her expression faltered. She seemed sad, perhaps even a touch guilty at the mention of her two favorite male Mazken. Odd, he thought, considering the blatantly shameless antics the trio had been party to before her departure months before. Just thinking about some of the things he had unintentionally witnessed made him shudder.

"Maybe you're right." She looked appraisingly down at herself and frowned. The usually glittering amber of her armor had been dulled to an ugly brown from layers of dirt and old, dried blood. She leaned forward and lifted up one booted foot to examine the bottom. A foul, thick, mud-like substance that Haskill was certain could not be mud coated the entire surface and left little chunks behind on the rug beneath her feet. "Is that smell coming from me?" she asked.

"Most assuredly," he replied.

She seemed bemused as she nodded slowly. "That's truly an impressively repulsive stench."

"I agree completely, madam."

"Then a bath it is," she declared. "I've neglected too much for too long, haven't I? Myself included, hmm? It's stupid to punish myself for _him_."

"'Him,' Madgod?"

Haskill chided himself for asking the moment the inquiry left his mouth, but Elowyn was staring off again. "It's not like he's pining away for me, hmm?" she muttered, her foot suddenly tapping the floor nervously and in a completely different pattern to that of her drumming fingernails. More of the non-mud flaked off of her boots and onto the rug. Haskill felt the muscle at the corner of his eye twitch. "I left him behind…but the bastard didn't even follow me like he was supposed to."

The Breton pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Who was supposed to follow you, madam?"

"No one!" she snapped at him, her voice echoing through the chamber so loudly that the two guards at the end of the hall snapped to attention. "Haven't you been paying attention? _I_ supposed he would follow, because _I_ thought there was something between us, but _he_ obviously supposed differently because he's not here now, is he? Therefore, logically, _no one_ was supposed to follow me!"

"Ah, yes," the chamberlain flatly agreed. "Logically."

She sighed in exasperation. "I swear, sometimes you can be so obtuse, Haskill."

"Apologies. I am certain that this gentlemen you left behind could have dazzled you with his dizzying wit in my stead had he supposed there was something between you."

"Oh, be silent," the woman growled as she shifted moodily in her seat. "You both have sticks up your asses, I'll give you that much. Only difference is Thedret's doesn't come to a sharp point and wag out of his mouth in lieu of his tongue like yours does."

Haskill arched an eyebrow, but the woman was suddenly on her feet and stomping down the steps, leaving a lovely trail of filth in her wake. "And speaking of sticks," she said as she breezed past the chamberlain, "and mouths…and tongues…it's bath time! I am not to be bothered unless there is some kind of invasion. And maybe not even then. Oh, but cake is a good reason! Yes, I think you should bake me a cake invasion. Immediately, hmm? Oh, and Haskill?"

"Madam?"

She turned her head to stare at him over her shoulder. "I'm closing the door."

"The door?"

"_The_ door, Haskill. Cyrodill doesn't deserve access to my home anymore." A scowl flitted across her face before she turned and stalked off. "The ungrateful bastard," she muttered to herself before shouting back at the Breton, "Tomorrow! Or whenever it is I finish my bath, hmm?"

Haskill sighed at her retreating backside, then frowned in disapproval at the dirt covering the rug. With a wave of his hand, the mess vanished and the Breton nodded to himself in satisfaction. Now that the grime – and the Madgod's incessant need to constantly make the most irritating sounds in the realm – was gone, his oppressive headache began to lift slightly. Still, the general sense of mislays that had fallen over him since Elowyn's return remained on the fringes of his awareness.

In the courtyard of the House of Mania, Haskill could sense an argument brewing between two Aureals, one which was heated and could turn violent, but the subject matter was foolish and trivial. Just that morning, a mob had gathered outside the Museum of Oddities, smashing windows and screaming obscenities at nothing in particular. He still had no idea what had caused the trouble in the first place. But he was starting to suspect a correlation.

All had been relatively peaceful in Elowyn's absence, the Isles filled only with the standard random acts of insanity that they all knew well enough. A few minor uprisings and disturbances had taken place, but the Mazken and Aureal forces had kept things stable, and what they had not been able to take care of themselves, Elowyn had addressed immediately upon her return.

Haskill was certain she had not rested at all in the last several days. She was driving herself, refusing to let herself stop for any amount of time, and now with the mention of this "Thedret" fellow, he was starting to see the bigger picture. With all the disturbances lately, and Haskill's own affliction when in her presence, he had come to realize that Elowyn was not going to be the only one suffering until she forgot about this male from Cyrodiil.

A great rumble of thunder boomed overhead. The hall was suddenly filled with the sharp patter of what sounded like a shower of hail bouncing against the roof, the sound irritatingly similar to Elowyn's fingernails on the arm of the throne...only greatly multiplied. Haskill sighed.

"We survived the Gray March only to find our downfall at the hands of a mortal woman's mood swings. Wonderful."

With a last glare upward at the ceiling overhead, the chamberlain set out in search of cake.


	53. Chapter 53

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 53**

"You have a visitor, my Lord."

Thedret looked up from the contract he was reading and half frowned at the new squire questioningly. "Who is it, Masor?"

"He did not give his name, but he bears the markings of the Blades, my Lord. He asked for you by name."

The Redguard stiffened in surprised and immediately dismissed the young man then reached for his sword belt. His back gave an unpleasant twinge as he rose from his chair, stiff from hours spent at the desk. If there was one thing he had learned this last fortnight, it was that being in command meant mountains of paperwork and very little time for anything else. Like actually helping people in need.

"My Lord Baurus," Thedret greeted as he strode outside into the courtyard. The gray-haired Blade clasped his arm in warm greeting. "It's an honor to see you again, sir."

"I must say the honor is mine," Baurus replied with a glance around at the Priory. "This is an impressive accomplishment, Sir Thedret. The revival and continued efforts of an order thought long dead is no small feat."

The knight shook his head and offered a modest, if slightly strained, smile. "It was not my accomplishment."

"You don't give yourself enough credit," the older man insisted with a shake of his head. He began to walk toward the stables, his eyes still taking in the sights of the fine buildings and few young squires training in the yard. Geimund glanced at them curiously, but did not pause as he bellowed orders at the men and women.

Thedret fell into step beside Baurus, and the man continued. "This would never have come about without your efforts. I know that, you know that…and _she_ knows that."

Thedret struggled to hide a scowl. He had not allowed himself to speak of or think about Elowyn since the night she left, at least when he could stop himself, and he absolutely hated the way his heart ached at just the barest mention of her. There was something decidedly unfair about her ability to effect him even now. "Is there a reason for your visit, my Lord?" he asked suddenly, hoping he did not sound as rude as he felt like being. "If you have come to see Elowyn, I'm afraid she…"

"She's gone." Baurus nodded and stopped beside the corral to lean against one of the wooden posts, far from the curious eyes and ears of the other knights and squires. "Yes, I know. She came to see me several days ago, to tell me she was leaving."

Thedret's jaw flexed. Of course she would say farewell to her old friend. Never mind her loyal knights. Never mind _him_. "I see," he replied through clenched teeth, though he did his best to seem relaxed. Judging by Baurus' probing stare, Thedret was not doing a good job of it. "Then what has brought you here, sir?"

"You, actually," the man replied, "and a promise. That woman is damned good at coaxing them out of people, isn't she? Too bad she didn't stick around to make sure I follow this promise to the letter," he added with a rueful smirk.

"What promise?" Thedret asked warily. He was not sure he liked where this was going. "And what does it have to do with me?"

Thedret frowned but said nothing more as he accepted the small, wrapped package Baurus offered him. He could feel something hard and cold beneath the plain parchment wrapping, but he hesitated to untie the small piece of twine holding it closed. What in Oblivion could be inside? Obviously something from Elowyn, but…did it really matter? Did he even _want_ something from her? She had abandoned them all. Was it not simply best to forget her? Was that not what he had already told himself he had done?

"She left it with me and asked me to pass it along to you," Baurus explained, though he seemed a little uncertain in the face of Thedret's reluctance. "Of course, she doesn't need to know that I'm delivering it a few months ahead of her instructions."

"What is it?" Thedret ventured with a doubtful frown.

"I haven't a clue," the older Redguard shrugged. "Why don't you open it and find out?"

"To be perfectly honest," Thedret said slowly, "I'm not entirely certain I want to."

To his surprise, Baurus let out a sharp bark of laughter and clapped Thedret's shoulder in a rough, friendly gesture. "Ah, then you're a smart man, Sir Thedret. Anyone who's known our fair friend for any amount of time would hesitate as well. Elowyn's a double-edged sword, and likely so are her gifts."

An irrational jolt of what could only be described as jealousy shot through the younger man at the fondness he heard in Baurus' voice, but a sharp side-long glance revealed only an expression of kind friendliness on his face. "She said you're the brother she should have had, you know," Thedret offered. He was testing the other man, but he hoped it did not seem that way.

"Did she?" Baurus' smile turned contemplative and a little sad. "That's a compliment of the highest caliber coming from her. That woman can't stand to let anyone too close. She'll tell someone she loves them and deny she ever said it in the same breath. Afraid of getting hurt, I suppose. Not that I can really blame her…" The Blade trailed off, then glanced up at Thedret with a look of mild chagrin. "Ah, sorry. I guess I'm getting sentimental in my old age."

Thedret shook his head, his concerned stare back on the gift in his hand. "Think nothing of it," he muttered, then added under his breath, "that damnable woman." Ignoring the chuckle of the older Redguard, Thedret took a breath and quickly untied the small, bound package.

After he pushed aside the parchment wrapping, Thedret could do little more than gape in disbelief at what lay in his hand. The small, scratched bottle dully reflected the bright sunlight, its black liquid contents darker and somehow more ominous than they had seemed in the dim moonlight when last he had seen it. The cure for vampirism rested in the palm of his hand…a parting gift from a vampire.

What in Tamriel was it supposed to mean?

Baurus regarded the man and the strange vial curiously. "I'm not even going to ask what that is," he said after a moment.

Thedret started to reply, but then he noticed writing on the inside of the parchment that had covered the potion. Immediately, he smoothed the paper and read the brief note in Elowyn's familiar writing.

_Thedret,_

_In case your beloved Julianos is just as vigilant the next time a woman like me takes a taste of you._

_Elowyn_

The knight blinked at the note and reread it twice more, wondering if there was some deeper meaning behind the words…or if that was just wishful thinking. When Elowyn had attacked him, Julianos had not prevented it. In fact, it was arguable that the gods had intentionally placed him in that position, but this was something Thedret had grudgingly accepted. The gods were using them. He had decided that the best any of them could do was take advantage of the gifts the gods decided to grant them in order to better the lives of mortals as much as possible.

But Elowyn would not waste her time telling him something like that. She had already made the point more than once. And since she had gone out of her way to remind him of the limited chance their race had of contracting vampirism naturally, it seemed like a very slim possibility that he would ever have need of this particular gift. So why had she given it to him? What did it _mean_?

Baurus' gentle laugh jarred him from his thoughts. "By the Nine, I've seen Elowyn inspire that expression far too many times," the older man chuckled wryly. "It's a damned shame she can't just come right out and say how she feels."

"I don't…" Thedret started, but the words died on his lips, his eyes going unfocused. "How she feels…?"

He understood. He _finally_ understood. Or, at least he hoped he finally understood.

The realization was like a bolt of lightning straight through the top of his head, white-hot, painful and more than a little infuriating. That crazy, insufferable woman…

"Sir Thedret, are you well?"

Thedret immediately squared his shoulders, reached out to grasp the man's arm and offered him a determined smile. "My Lord Baurus, I cannot thank you enough for taking the trouble to bring this to me."

Hesitantly, Baurus clasped the knight's arm in return. "It was my pleasure…" he began with a mildly confused smile of his own.

"I apologize, but I have something I must attend to," Thedret told him as he began to back away toward the main building of the Priory. "My second in command, Sir Carodus, will gladly see to your needs. I beg your pardon for my rudeness."

"No need," the older man laughed after him, clearly amused as Thedret jogged toward the doors, "but where are you going?"

Laughing to himself, Thedret shouted back without slowing his steps, "To find out if I'm crazy!"


	54. Chapter 54

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

* * *

Chapter 54**

There was a disorienting jolt, a sudden fuzziness over his eyes, and then he was standing on solid ground once more. Shaking his head, Thedret gazed around the world on the other side of the mysterious doorway, half expecting to be greeted with all manner of monstrosity or oddity. Instead, the Asylums looked rather unimpressively similar to Cyrodiil. And it was raining – a cold, constant drizzle that made him shiver and give thanks that he had worn his thickest cloak.

Thedret glanced back at the swirling portal behind him, as if to reassure himself that there was indeed an exit, then pulled his cowl lower to block out the rain and started down the hill. Before he had taken more than a half dozen steps, the air before him swirled and a man materialized out of the mist. The knight stopped, his hand cautiously wrapped around the hilt of his mace, but the new arrival made no threatening moves and only regarded him with something between disinterest and disdain.

He was a Breton by the looks of him, though there was something _off_ about him that made Thedret wonder if he was something completely other than what he appeared. He sternly reminded himself that this was the realm of a Daedric Prince and such things should not surprise him. The thin man wore strange but expensive clothing, a perfectly tailored jacket and polished shoes, but nothing to shield him from the interminable rain. This was probably due to the fact that the droplets never touched him, but just seemed to disappear if they came too close, leaving the Breton as dry as if he were indoors.

"It is about time you arrived," the man drawled curtly, giving Thedret's muddy and rain-soaked attire a disgusted perusal. "I was certain half the Isles would have washed away by the time you gave chase."

Cautiously, Thedret answered, "You've…been expecting me?"

"Certainly," the Breton replied. "Do you usually find yourself greeted thus when you are _not_ expected?"

"Well, no, but," Thedret floundered, then scowled at the man. "Elowyn has mentioned me, then?"

With a dry, humorless smile, the man murmured, "You could put it that way, I suppose. My name is Haskill, and I am…"

"Ah, yes," Thedret interrupted as he finally relaxed a notch and let his hand slide away from his weapon, "Elowyn's nanny."

The look on the other man's face was the most bizarre tangle of disgruntled irritation and mild bemusement that Thedret could ever have imagined. "Quite," the thin man sniffed. "I am the Madgod's chamberlain. Welcome to the Shivering Isles."

"A fitting name," Thedret observed, pulling his cloak tighter.

"Yes, well, you can blame yourself for that." Before the knight could ask what Haskill meant, the Breton held out his hand toward him. "Here." A long, wicked-looking knife appeared in the chamberlain's hand, and after a brief hesitation, Thedret took it by the hilt. "You will need that."

The weapon was too short to be called a sword but too long to be called a dagger, the blade spanning the approximate length of Thedret's forearm. The hilt was simple, unadorned steel, but the edge itself was pure white and made of a smooth, lightweight substance that Thedret could not identify.

"What…" Thedret started to ask, but he glanced up to see Haskill had started to fade. "No, wait! What am I supposed to do with this? Where is Elowyn? I must speak with her!"

With an annoyed sigh, the chamberlain rematerialized and leveled a dry stare at him. "I cannot simply hand you all the answers," he snapped. "I suppose you will have to figure it out for yourself." As his body began to fade into the misty rain once more, he added, "The logical conclusion to your first question would be 'stab someone with it,' perhaps?"

"But," Thedret cried into the rain in frustration, "why can't you just take me to Elowyn?"

The air rumbled with a low, unpleasant laugh that made Thedret's skin crawl with gooseflesh. "You are an uninvited guest," Haskill's voice murmured somewhere near his ear, though the man could not be seen. "Even in the Madhouse there are rules. Follow the road, Redguard, and I wish you luck…for all our sakes, perhaps."

Thedret started to argue, but the rain picked up in earnest and he knew the strange Breton was gone. He was left with nothing else to do but swallow his frustration, tuck the strange blade into his belt and carry on along the road as Haskill had suggested.

He passed several buildings along the way, and some alien but oddly beautiful landscapes, but he saw no people or creatures or even movement aside from the driving rain. He supposed the weather was keeping everyone indoors – or at least he hoped that was the case. It made him feel very on edge to be in such a seemingly lifeless setting.

The Redguard was so absorbed on keeping his footing on the rain-slicked stones as they led him in a slow curve upward that he let out an audible gasp of surprise when he rounded the corner at the top of the hill. A magnificent gateway with two massive arches and thick, intricately carved doors barred the path. He took several strides closer then stood gawking at the awe-inspiring structure for a long moment, heedless of the rain dripping onto his face. He did not snap out of his daze until he heard a low growl and noticed two huge eyes watching him from the shadowy recess of one the doors.

Thedret took three quick steps backward, slipped, but maintained his footing as the enormous beast uncurled and rose to full height before his eyes. He quickly freed his mace, but judging by sheer size alone, Thedret sincerely doubted he stood a chance by himself against whatever the monstrosity turned out to be. He almost dropped his weapon in surprise as the creature lumbered out into the light.

"Honey?"

The fleshy beast cocked its mutilated head curiously to one side and studied him. Convinced that it was indeed the same creature Elowyn had summoned some weeks back, Thedret hastily hooked his mace back onto his belt and held his arms out in a show of surrender.

"You might not remember me," he said in a rush, taking one uncertain step closer to the gates and telling himself firmly that this was _not_ a completely insane thing to be doing. "We only met that one time, back in Cyrodiil?" The monster narrowed its eyes and approached Thedret with just as much caution. "I-I was with Elowyn…uh…" he floundered for a moment, fighting back the completely rational fear that hammered through his veins as Honey leaned over him, hunching down to bring his massive head level with the wide-eyed Redguard. He sent a frantic prayer to Julianos, not allowing himself to wonder if the Nine Divines would listen to him while in this place, and stood firm.

"You friend of Mama?" The beast's low, rumbling voice washed over him, and Thedret choked back the need to gag at the putrid stench of its breath.

"Yes, don't you remember? At the Shrine of Sheogorath? She needed you to chase down a troublesome Dark Elf who…"

"Who needed hugs!" the monster suddenly gushed with a wide, terrifying smile. Honey reached out with one thick finger and tapped Thedret's chest twice in what he assumed was a friendly greeting, though it nearly sent him sprawling. "Honey remember you, little man."

Thedret sagged in relief and let out a sigh. "I'm very glad to hear that."

The beast let out a dopey laugh as it straightened up. "And Honey remember you smell funny, too."

Thedret could not help but let a nervous twitter of laughter slip out. "So I've been told."

"Little man should not stand in rain all day," Honey observed wisely. "Honey return to guarding gate now."

"No, no, wait!" Thedret called out as the monster turned away, moving quickly to stand in front of it to keep its attention. "I have to see Elowyn – Mama. Can you help me find her?"

"Mama live on other side of gate," the guardian informed him.

"Okay. How do I get through?"

Honey laughed again. "Silly little man! You no go through gate. You not on list."

"List?" Thedret blinked. "What list?"

The fleshy creature reached up and tapped the side of its head. "List in Honey's head, of course."

Thedret stared up the long distance at the beast for a moment. His first thought was, "This is insane," followed immediately by, "Of course it is, idiot." His mouth worked wordlessly for a moment before he managed, "But…I have to see her, Honey. It's very important."

The Atronach frowned, seeming saddened by Thedret's words. "Honey like you," it told him decisively, "but if little man tries to go through gates, Honey will break you in half."

The guardian lumbered off toward the shelter of the gate arches, leaving behind a scowling, frustrated Thedret. The man rubbed his temples for a moment, wracking his brain for any ideas, before dropping his hands back to his sides and turning resignedly away from the gates. His hand brushed the hilt of the strange weapon Haskill had handed him, and the Redguard paused.

The blade was bleached white, like bone…bone? Why did that spark a familiar chord with him? What was he forgetting? Something about Elowyn…something she had told him…a story, _the_ story about how she ended up in the Shivering Isles. That was it – she had used arrows with bone tips to wear down the gate guardian.

Thedret drew the small sword and stared at it, then half-turned to watch the behemoth casually lounging against the frame of one the gates. If this weapon was what he suspected it was, did Haskill really expect him to attack the gatekeeper with _this_? The thing was little more than a splinter to the huge beast! And beyond that, was he really going to try to kill something Elowyn obviously held dear? Never mind how disgusting and terrible the beast appeared to him – _she_ cared about it. Thedret had a hard time picturing her being open to anything he had to say if he cut down her pet guardian.

With a small growl of frustration, the knight turned the blade over in his hand a few times, and cast a pleading look toward the unsuspecting Flesh Atronach. "This will not end well…"


	55. Chapter 55

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.**

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Chapter 55**

"By Sanguine's left buttock," Elowyn managed around a wanton moan of pleasure, "you are _very_ good at what you do, my dear, dear Mazken."

The dark skinned male crouching beside her smiled slyly and continued to knead the lean muscles across the backs of Elowyn's thighs. "You have been gone far too long, Madgod," he purred, his touch sliding slow and seductive against her sensitive skin.

The woman murmured something unintelligible and relaxed under his talented touch. She was sprawled face down in one of the shallow pools, the warm water only a scant inch deep at best, gloriously naked and shamelessly fawned over by her two attendants. She told herself she had missed this, that these two would find ways to wash away all of her lingering unpleasant feelings. So far, she had not managed to convince herself.

The second of her Chosen gently lifted her braids from the back of her neck and ran his fingertips down the slopes of her shoulders. "There is so much tension in you, my Lord," he murmured. "'Tis our duty to find ways of making you forget your troubles."

The daedra's unintentional echo of Elowyn's thoughts created the opposite effect in her. She frowned and felt her muscles bunch reflexively. Why did she feel so damned guilty? No, it was not guilt – it was a distinct sense of _wrong_. This was not where she wanted to be, these were not the hands she wanted to feel on her skin, those eyes were the wrong color, those voices the wrong timber. Here she had at her disposal two gorgeous, willing – talented – males, and yet she could not stop wishing she were outside, riding alongside someone far too serious, far too pious, far too sane for her. Seeing him scowl at her teasing, his rare smile and even rarer laugh that made his eyes shine...she squeezed her eyes closed, forcing down the sudden, infuriating sting of tears. She felt like a fool.

"Madgod."

Elowyn's eyes snapped open, her thoughts roughly shoved aside, and she lifted her head to regard Haskill blankly as he materialized into the dim room. The two Chosen completely ignored the chamberlain, and for his part, Haskill hid his distaste for their antics fairly well. "Cake?" she asked.

"Ah, of course," the Breton murmured with a flippant wave of his hand. An expensive silver platter appeared on the edge of the pool near her face, the surface dotted with miniature sweets of more varieties than Elowyn thought existed. Several of them she could not even identify.

"You sly dog," she smirked at Haskill, who narrowed his eyes at being referred to as a canine. "You thought you'd forego my complaints about what kind of cake you chose for me by providing me with _every_ kind of cake, hmm? Well, instead I'll complain about not being able to choose which to try first."

"Shocking," the chamberlain replied. "I fear you have no time to enjoy the sound of your own voice, madam. There is a disturbance at the gates which requires your attention."

Elowyn casually picked at one of the cakes, sucking the gloriously sweet frosting from under her fingernail leisurely and making little noises of approval. After a moment, she glanced up to see Haskill staring at her, unblinking. "I'm waiting for you to tell me all about this full blown invasion," she informed him.

"It is not an invasion, but…"

"Then shoo," she ordered with a dismissive flick of her wrist, her attention back on the delightful cake.

"The Gatekeeper has been attacked."

Elowyn snorted and did not look up. "Then let the fool who thought that was a good idea get what's coming to him, hmm? Hey, wait…_I_ was that fool once…"

Haskill sighed, his voice laced with impatience and irritation. "The Gatekeeper has been attacked _and_ injured. Madam."

The cakes completely forgotten, Elowyn's head shot up. "What? Why didn't you tell me?!" she shouted as she jumped to her feet, sending her Chosen stumbling backward to get out of her way. Heedless of the water coursing down her bare skin, Elowyn stalked toward her stoic chamberlain. "_Nobody_ hurts my Honey."

"Indeed." Haskill held out his hand and a buttery soft doeskin blanket suddenly hung off his fingertips. Elowyn snatched the wrap around herself and she had barely enough time to cover herself before the landscape shifted and changed, leaving her and Haskill standing at the Gates of Madness.

Thick fog and misty rain immediately greeted her, and she found herself shivering from the sudden change in temperature. She could hear Honey bellowing angrily, smell the faint, acidic tinge of his magically enchanted blood, but she could make out little more than vague shapes moving some distance from them. Squinting, she clutched the blanket around her body and took a step forward only to trip over something hard and sharp in the gloom. She blinked down at the bracer under her bare feet, then let out a low growl of frustration.

"This is ridiculous," she snarled, turning her face up to glare at the clouds overhead. "Enough already!" she shouted, and immediately the rain ceased. The scathing glower she leveled around her was enough to burn back the fog, the offensive obstruction rolling back as if in fear. Still, the heavy clouds loomed stubbornly overhead, and let out a few low rumbles of thunder from time to time.

She gaped at what she saw when the air was finally cleared. Pieces of armor lay strewn all across the cobblestones in front of the gates, but she realized that none of it seemed damaged. Rather, it appeared the owner of these items had shed them while fleeing, a suspicion which was confirmed when Elowyn spotted her enraged Flesh Atronach in pursuit of the offender.

"Impossible," she breathed when she recognized the Redguard scrambling across the wet, muddy stones to keep out of the furious Gatekeeper's reach.

"Apparently not," Haskill replied with a sidelong glance at the woman.

"Honey!" Elowyn called out, and the infuriated beast limped to a halt and turned her direction. "Come, let Mama deal with this!"

As Honey lumbered her direction, she could see a thick flow of purplish-blue blood trailing down the creature's thick right leg. The hilt of a sword sticking out from his thigh was the obvious culprit. Breathing heavily, the fleshy beast wobbled to a stop not far from Elowyn and let out a pitiful murmur. "It burns, Mama."

"Elowyn!" Thedret skirted closer to them, but kept a wary distance, his breath coming in little foggy puffs with each quick pant. His clothing was soaked through and clinging to him, and she could all but see the heat emanating from his sweating skin. Honey twisted his head to bellow an outraged snarl at the man, but Thedret stood firm. "Please, Elowyn, I need to…"

"You _attacked_ Honey?!" she shouted, all righteous fury and indignation. What in Oblivion was wrong with the stupid man? Did he really think she would want to have anything to do with him at all right then?

"But…I…" Thedret floundered for a moment, his eyes going round and desperate before he caught sight of Haskill. "Him!" he pointed at the chamberlain emphatically. "He told me to do it! He gave me the sword!"

"What…?" Elowyn turned a skeptical stare on the Breton, but her expression quickly shifted to shock at the discomfort she spotted there. "You did _what_?"

"I did no such thing," Haskill sniffed with a disgruntled lift of his chin. He narrowed his eyes at Thedret and added quietly, "You ungrateful cur."

"This is just…_argh_!" Elowyn growled, feeling herself on the verge of a childish temper tantrum. "You get Relmyna down here right now to fix up my Honey," she furiously commanded Haskill before rounding on Thedret and storming his direction. "And _you_ had better have some damned smooth words prepared, my dear knight!"

"I…I just needed to see you!" he called out as he strode forward to meet her halfway across the stone courtyard. "I…" he frowned and they both stopped several feet from one another, "why are you naked?"

"Because you interrupted my bath," she shot back, adjusting the soggy wrap with an uncharacteristic touch of self-consciousness. "And because this is my realm and I can do whatever I damned well please! I _belong_ here. You, on the other hand, _don't_."

He shook off his frown and took a challenging step toward her. Though he tried to hide it, she saw him shiver from the cold, but his face was set in firm, determined lines. "Oh, really?" he arrogantly replied. "What must one do to merit belonging here then, my Lady?"

"You must be crazy, of course," she retorted, "and we all know you're sane enough for the both of us, hmm?"

He took another step closer, and Elowyn hated the way he was making her nervous. He was near enough now for her to see the reddish flecks in his dark eyes, to smell the sweat beneath the rain of his soaked clothing. Despite the fact that he must have been freezing cold, and he had just come very close to being a bloody smear across the bottom of Honey's foot, the man seemed eerily calm.

"Crazy, huh?" he murmured. "You mean like…a man going through a portal in the middle of nowhere, attacking a monstrous beast with nothing but a little knife given to him by a mysterious stranger, but refusing to kill the monster because he wouldn't want to hurt the woman who cares about this monster…all on the off chance that she might grant him an audience and hear what he has to say, despite the fact that it was she who ran away from him not long ago? Is _that_ crazy?"

Elowyn's mouth worked wordlessly for a moment, and she was torn between affection and annoyance at the smug expression on Thedret's face. "A little…" she admitted.

"Not enough?" he asked, inching just a bit closer to her. "What about a knight who meets a vampire, is rescued by her and joins her in a crusade against great evil? What if this knight helped her rebuild an order dedicated to the Nine Divines, even though the vampire was not one of their followers? What if he stood by her through hard times, supporting her and nursing her wounds, even keeping her secret when she briefly turned against him? What if he got drunk and danced on a table with her and almost got stabbed by a crazy, jealous follower of Sheogorath because of her and screamed obscenities at his god when he found her broken, lifeless body because he didn't want to go on without her? What if…" his eyes danced away from hers for a moment, and she was relieved to realize that he was as nervous as she was. He was just better at hiding it. "What if he tried to forget her when she left, but he couldn't? What if he didn't want the end to mean it was over? Would he be crazy enough then?"

"Then…in that case…" Elowyn swallowed hard, distracted by the heat of his skin only a scant inch away from her as he stared searchingly down into her eyes, "I would say he's in pretty deep, hmm?"

"I think she's in just as deep," he murmured back, his expression taking on that soft edge she had seen from him a few times, the look that made her insides give a little twist of fear. "It's just too hard for her to admit it. Even to herself."

"If that's true, if she cannot admit it to herself, then how does he expect her to admit it to him, hmm?" She told herself firmly that her voice did _not_ sound small and breathless and _afraid_.

"I don't," he replied with a hint of a laugh in his tone. She startled when his cold fingers wrapped around her free hand, but she did not pull away. Her chest ached with something like joy and terror all at once, and she did not know how to handle the feelings. "I only ask one thing of you. Just one small thing."

"I-I don't know if I can give it," she told him with an edge of panic. "How can you just sweep into my world and expect to…to, what? To carry me back to Cyrodiil? To make your home here? Impossible! Thedret, this is not insane – it's stupid!"

"Do you think I came here to fall to my knees and make some grand declaration?" he asked. His usually stoic expression was touched with bemusement. "That doesn't sound much like me, does it?"

"Well…no, but…"

"Elowyn, I can't promise you anything. I can't promise _me_ anything. I'm not going to swear to spend every waking moment at your side from now until the day I die. I have responsibilities and so you do you, but…" again the nervousness rose in him, "I'd like to know I have the option. Elowyn…what I came here to ask…"

"Don't," she cut him off in a pinched voice. "_Please_ don't ask me. I can't say it…even if it were true, which I will not say it is and will not say it's not, I-I just…it's not in me to give you that. To give anyone that! It's not…"

"I know," Thedret gently stopped her, his fingers rising to trace the slope of her cheekbone. The woman froze, her breath caught in her throat. "I finally figured that out. Took me long enough, I suppose. That's why I want you to tell me that you don't love me."

Elowyn was visibly shaken by his unexpected words, but Thedret only regarded her with a serious, expectant expression. "What…?" she whispered. "Why would you come all this way just to ask me for _that_?"

"Just say it. Tell me you don't love me. Tell me you have no feelings for me whatsoever so I can leave now and never bother you again."

"I…_can't_," she hissed, wanting to twist away from him to hide the flood of emotion rushing to her face. "You know I can't."

His hand slid from her cheek to her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his dark, commanding stare. "Why not?"

"Because," she sighed, somewhere between defeat and relief, "because it's not true."

Thedret smiled, a wide, pleased expression that made his eyes sparkle as the light broke through the clouds overhead. "That's the best confession I've never heard," he whispered warmly, then bent his face to press a gentle kiss against her lips.

**End

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**A/N:** Complete! It's not exactly a "happily ever after" ending, but I'm very satisfied with where I left it. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, and for anyone who took the time to read the story, I hope you enjoyed it. :)


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